


Return to Avalon

by Smash_50



Series: Avalon [4]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Buckle up kids this is going to be a long ride, Character tags will be added with time to avoid spoilers, Except for Percival and Galahad because they are teenagers and don't need that right now, F/F, F/M, Fighting God, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Now with Established Relationships!, Self-Indulgent, Smash says sequel and basically writes a medieval SA3, Sonic and the Black Knight, Too many platonic relationships to name so there's a good old Everyone and Everyone, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smash_50/pseuds/Smash_50
Summary: Official sequel to Tales of Avalon.A little over a year after the events of ToA, the pressure to fight back against the Saxons reaches an all time high as a new source of power is revealed. However, as Lancelot's dark origins are brought to light and Arthur finds himself pushed to act in all directions, all the residents of Camelot will have to do their part for Avalon, no matter how dangerous or uncertain the roads they must travel.
Relationships: Avatar | Custom Hero (Sonic Forces)/Infinite (Sonic the Hedgehog), Everyone & Everyone, Galahad/Percival (Sonic and the Black Knight), Gawain (Sonic and the Black Knight)/Rouge the Bat, King Arthur/Lancelot (Sonic and the Black Knight), Princess Elise/Merlina the Wizard, Sally Acorn/Nicole the Holo-Lynx
Series: Avalon [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801990
Comments: 86
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

“Keep pacing like that and you’ll make a trench in the floor.”

Queen Guinevere stood, leaning her shoulder against the wall as she watched Sir Lancelot du Lac, Ultimate Knight of the Round Table, pace back and forth like a madman. Yet, despite her taunt, the knight didn’t cease his movements; rather, he appeared to double in speed as he made his way back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across the entry hall. The knight didn’t speak a word, his visor hiding his face from view, but still the queen could tell that he was deeply troubled. His posture was rigid, his aura tense, and from the bottom of his helmet she could see his jaw moving as he ground his teeth together. With a sigh, the bat pushed herself away from the wall, considering stepping in front of him and forcing him to stop, but decided against it; Lancelot was unpleasant at best when he was in a state such as this.

Instead, she spoke out to him. “You know, I’m sure Yseult isn’t worried.”

“Well perhaps she should be!” Lancelot snapped back, his first words in a long while, and Guinevere wondered if that counted as a personal victory or not. “They’ve been gone an hour longer than expected!”

“Something might have come up,” Guinevere reasoned, but it did nothing to calm Lancelot down. “They shall both explain when they return. Honestly, Lance, give them some credit. Arthur’s plenty capable of handling civil issues on his own, _and_ he’s got Sir Tristan with him. They will be back in no time at all.”

“But they’re not back!” Lancelot’s hands balled into fists, opening and closing in a futile attempt to calm himself down. “It would take Arthur all but a few minutes to dash back and update us on the situation, yet we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of either of them! And this is hardly the night to take things slowly on civil issues, or have you forgotten that we have guests arriving tomorrow?”

“One guest, technically,” Guinevere corrected him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger before catching herself. Damn, he had gotten so worked up over this that she was starting to display her own nervous habits, too! “Though you do have a point. At this rate, Arthur won’t be in good shape when King Ban arrives.”

“Precisely!” Lancelot resumed pacing, his anxiety appearing to reach a new peak. “Which is why I should go out there and find him!”

“No,” Guinevere dismissed, smirking at the infuriated look Lancelot was certainly shooting her from behind his visor. “That’s an order, Sir Lancelot.”

“I _swear_ you’re doing this just to irritate me.”

The queen let out a dainty laugh. “Perhaps,” she admitted, and if she were a crueller being, she might have laughed again at the start Lancelot gave. “Easy now, Lance. As I’ve said, I’m sure they’re on their way back right now. To send you out would only complicate matters.”

The knight growled under his breath, the epitome of tension and worry as they continued to wait. Guinevere, taking pity on him, rested a hand on his shoulder to keep him out of his mind and drowning in thoughts which were, doubtlessly, imagining every worst-case scenario in existence.

“Your desire to protect him is admirable,” she murmured. “But you must trust him.”

“I do!” Lancelot crossed his arms, gripping at his bicep. “I do, but… for him to be gone for much longer than expected… and if anything ever happened to him…”

“I assure you, in just a moment he’ll come right through that door and you may press him against the wall and yell at him all night.”

And as if the gods themselves had heard her, the door swung open the very next second, to the surprise and relief of both queen and knight. First through the doorway and into the threshold was Sir Tristan, her blue-accented silver armor reflecting the torchlight, her visor pushed up and revealing her tired, exasperated face. Coming up right behind her was King Arthur, red cape billowing as the door behind him closed, golden crown sitting on his head, and his upbeat expression morphing into a sheepish one as he shrunk under Lancelot’s hidden glare.

“Um… Hello?”

He was slammed against the wall the very next second by an incredibly angry knight.

“What were you thinking?!” Lancelot demanded, gripping him by the shoulders while Arthur continued to smile his embarrassed little smile. “You’re well past when you were expected back! Did you not _think_ to run back here to let us know something had come up?”

“Easy, Lance! The meeting took a little longer than I thought, and then…”

“And then _what?”_ Lancelot’s voice held an edge to it, one that promised wrath if a poor answer was given.

Tristan was the one to answer. “We were invited to dinner and got caught up in it for longer than expected.”

Guinevere laughed at that. “Sounds about right. Arthur’s gone and let his stomach make his decisions for him.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I skipped lunch today! I needed it!” the king retorted after sparing an apologetic grin to Lancelot. “Besides… I never get to spend time with the people anymore…”

“Ah yes, the people’s king,” Guinevere said, sagely nodding her head. “That clears it all up. Don’t you see, Lancelot? Everything was, and still is, fine.”

Arthur turned his gaze back to Lancelot, a more mischievous smile gracing his lips. “Were you worried about me?” he crooned, leaning forward until his nose brushed against his knight's visor.

“Don’t give me that!” Lancelot snapped. “Damn it, Arthur, you know that I… How I…”

Even from her place several feet away, Guinevere could see Lancelot’s hands begin to tremble, and any teasing remarks she had in her thoughts extinguished themselves as remorse replaced them all. It was always so easy to poke fun at her friend for his deep love for the king 一 especially when he reacted so strongly! 一 but then forget that his concern lay deeper, enhanced by dark memories and fears that the knight still struggled with. As much as she regretted making light of his worry, especially now, seeing how deep it had cut, she knew that it wasn’t the right time for her to be apologizing; right now, it was Arthur’s job to soothe Lancelot’s worries.

The king seemed to know it was his turn as his hands raised, pushing up the knight’s visor and lifting his chin to look at him. “I’m sorry, Lance,” he murmured, his smile softer and more reassuring, and Guinevere saw Lancelot’s hands cease shaking. “I’m sorry for making you wonder if I’m okay, but I am okay. Do you see it?”

Lancelot swallowed. “I see it… You’re okay.”

Arthur’s hands lowered, arms wrapping around the dark knight’s waist. “I swear to you, Lance, that I’m not going anywhere or staying away for too long.” Then, bringing his face closer, he added, almost too quietly for Guinevere to pick up on, “Not when I have you to come back to.”

The bat looked away, knowing that to eavesdrop any longer would be in bad taste. She glanced over at the still yet-to-be-dismissed Sir Tristan, who was standing dutifully by, wondering how to leave unnoticed, but the chipmunk raised a hand to her mouth, unable to hold back a loud yawn, and the noise caused Sir Lancelot to jump away from King Arthur, once again as tense as could be, interrupting the tender moment between the two.

“My apologies,” Tristan said, exhaustion permeating her tone. “It has been a long day.”

“It has indeed,” Guinevere agreed. “You should get some rest.” Then, looking over at the men, she added, “In fact, we all should, seeing as we have that important guest coming tomorrow.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Arthur groaned, raising a hand to massage at his head. “I’d forgotten about that…”

“Typical you,” Guinevere taunted, walking over to him and holding out a hand. “In that case, since you’ve been running around all night, how about I take Caliburn back to Smithy's for you?”

Arthur perked up at that. “You would?” he asked, to which Guinevere winked.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur replied, handing over his sword, who looked just as tired as he did. “You spoil me, Guin.”

“She does,” Caliburn piped up from her grasp. “Perhaps too much. You really ought to let him face the consequences sometimes.”

“Oh Caliburn, we both know he’ll learn nothing from being overworked even more,” she retorted. Then, looking up at the other three in the entry hall, she waved her hand. “Go on, shoo. Get some sleep and be ready for tomorrow.”

“You needn’t tell me twice,” Arthur returned, one arm slipping around Lancelot’s waist again as the knight’s face reddened at the public display of affection. “I’ll sleep like a log tonight.”

“As shall I,” Tristan agreed, already starting to walk away. “Until morning, Your Majesties, Sir Lancelot.”

“Good night, Sir Tristan,” the queen bid her farewell. “Say hello to your wife for me.”

“She’s not my wife,” Tristan mumbled in reply, more out of habit than a genuine complaint. It hardly mattered, anyhow; the situation between her and Yseult was clear as day.

As the Spirit Knight walked down one hall, Guinevere turned back to her husband and friend. “Good night to you two as well.”

“Good night, Guin,” Arthur replied with a one-handed salute. “Thank you again for holding down the fort here.”

“You can thank me by being ready to go when His Majesty arrives,” she replied, passing them both by and squeezing Lancelot’s shoulder in parting. “Heavens knows I need some sleep as well.”

“Don’t worry about the king,” Arthur assured her as she walked off toward the forge. “I’ll handle this one.”

Guinevere smiled to herself as she readjusted her grip on Caliburn’s hilt. “You had better,” she sing-songed back as she sped away, leaving the two alone to retire for the night together.

* * *

The sun rose far too early for Guinevere's liking. Grumbling under her breath as the morning rays hit her face, she sat up and stretched her arms and wings, one after the other. For a moment, she let herself just sit there, eyelids drooping as she lamented her lack of sleep, but she knew that their guest would only be around for a brief time that day before continuing his travels. She could turn in early tonight. With that thought to comfort her, she slid out of bed and sat at the dresser, taking out a brush and carefully combing it through her hair, getting rid of the knots that had appeared overnight.

She would need to look and behave her best for King Ban’s visit.

Her brushing slowed as she blearily recalled what she knew about him. As the sovereign of the mysterious Benwick Kingdom, there was stunningly little intel about him or his people, but Guinevere had gathered that his land bordered G.U.N. to the east, in a land similar to Saxony that was rich with magic users. Supposedly he held considerable magical competence, which had helped him ascend the throne when the previous king died with no heir. His appearance was said to be ‘unsettling’, and as unhelpful as that description was, at the very least it told Guinevere to curb the impulse to stare before she even saw him.

However, the most important fact that she knew was his reason for visiting: apparently, the king had important information on the current political and military plans of the Saxons and their dreadful emperor. Information so critical that it needed to be delivered _in person._

Guinevere set down her brush with a sigh, toying with a lock of hair. Emperor Ælle, as he was now known, had been making bigger and bolder moves on the other kingdoms, and though none had fallen yet, the losses were considerable. She stared into space, glaring at nothing, as she remembered all the disturbing reports.

Explosions at Soleanna… A full siege on Spiral… Despite a lack of report, it could be reasonably assumed that he made a move on Benwick as well… He obviously had morale and manpower to spare. Avalon, for the most part, was safe, given the emperor’s continued 一 and false 一 impression that Arthur was an immortal being, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous to everyone around him.

Something had to be done about him, that was for certain.

A firm, if hesitant, knock at her door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked toward the noise in confusion. Few people dared bother her in the morning, and those that did rarely woke up at dawn as she did. It was unlikely that Arthur would be up for breakfast, let alone Lancelot, who never left before the king did, so perhaps it was a servant with urgent news?

The knock repeated, more insistent this time, and Guinevere’s eyes widened and a grin spread across her face as another possibility came to her. She dashed to the door, suddenly wide awake, and flung it open.

There stood Gawain, arm raised to knock again, and the bat’s smile grew tenfold.

“Ah… um… Hello,” the echidna started, but Guinevere grabbed his outstretched hand and started pulling him through the door. “Hey! Hold on a moment! I shouldn’t go in, or people will talk!”

The queen rolled her eyes. “Only if they catch you coming back out,” she returned, doubling her efforts to bring him inside. “Come on, it’s the crack of dawn. No one will see you.”

“You should think more about your reputation,” Gawain kept protesting in a hiss, though his feet shuffled forward. “And mine as well!”

“Everybody knows, Gawain,” Guinevere whispered impatiently, giving one more tug to his arm. “Now come inside before I kick you in.”

The red knight huffed, striding past her into the room. “You truly have no shame,” he growled as she shrugged and shut the door, yet the instant he heard it close, his demeanour changed entirely. Away from any possible prying eyes, from any new rumors of misbehaving and improper relationships with a married sovereign, Gawain relaxed, his spines settling down as he removed his helmet and set it on her desk. Guinevere smirked; Gawain could argue and protest joining her alone until the sun went down, but she knew him better now than before. She knew he did it out of respect. She knew he had grown accustomed her forwardness.

It wasn't as though he wasn't ever forward himself, either, for the very next moment, Guinevere found herself swept up in a hug with Gawain’s face buried into her shoulder. She smiled, much softer this time, returning the gesture and lightly rubbing at the back of his head with her thumb, to which she was rewarded with the sound of a contented exhale.

“Welcome back, love,” she whispered, and he hummed in reply.

They stayed like that for a while before Gawain lifted his head, taking a step back, though he didn’t break their embrace. His hands stayed on her arms, and Guinevere became very aware all of a sudden that she was still in her nightgown, hardly looking her best, yet he looked no less happy to see her. She led him to the bed, sitting him down beside her, and though he blushed, he kept his composure.

“So… Shall I tell you about my travels?”

“Later,” Guinevere decided, wrapping her arms around him again. “I haven’t seen you in a week and a half.” Her lips pressed to his cheek, which burned at the contact. “Let me just…” She kissed his face, from the cheek to the temple, up to the forehead while Gawain’s eyes closed and he relaxed even more, leaning in to her touch. She continued to pepper him with light kisses, trailing back down to his muzzle, avoiding going too far and teasing his sensitive neck.

Instead, when her mouth was close, Gawain was bold enough to bring his lips to hers, and Guinevere smiled into the kiss, happy to know that he had come to reunite with her before anyone else. She knew, logically, it made the most sense; Gawain knew she was an early riser, frequently hounded with matters to attend to the instant she stepped into the main area of the castle, save for the days when Arthur took over matters, and that his siblings and friends would all be ready to meet with him at any hour of the day while her own schedule tended to be much less predictable.

All the same… she loved to know that he cared.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily from the extended kiss, and Guinevere patted his shoulder. “There we go. Now you can tell me all about it.”

“It’s always pleasure before business with you,” Gawain returned, taking his arms away to root through his satchel.

“We cannot all be allergic to fun,” Guinevere retorted, earning herself an unamused stare that contrasted so oddly with his flushed face that she couldn’t hold back a loud snort. “You see? My point exactly.”

Gawain grumbled under his breath, but aside from that made no retort as he pulled out two verdant shards. “The mission was a success,” he explained, handing them over to her so she could marvel at them. “Though now I’m certain that the last pieces are to the south, from the desert and beyond.”

Guinevere paused in her delighted inspection of the shards of the gemstone, lowering both to her lap. “Instinct?” she asked, and Gawain nodded in response.

“The more of these I collect, the stronger my certainties become,” he explained. “What were once feelings seem more like knowledge, as though this emerald is trying to speak to me.”

Guinevere pondered over his words, knowing better than to poke fun at him for their oddity. From the first time he had accompanied her on an expedition to find them, it had been clear that he had a natural pull to this treasure, the ancient relic of his village’s history. “How many do you think are left?” she asked.

His response was immediate and certain. “Three.”

“Three,” she echoed, turning the two shards around in her hands before reluctantly giving them back. “But you won’t leave to find them right away, will you? Your siblings often talk about you, as do your friends… Your absence is always greatly felt.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving again so soon,” he replied, supporting himself with his arms so he could lean back. “As much as I’ve found peace in solitude… I’m happy to be back home.”

The admission warmed Guinevere’s heart. She kissed his cheek again, before resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes roamed back to his satchel, and the replacement sword he had next to it. “Not to mention, you could stand to find another blade,” she remarked, noticing how dull the edge had gotten. “I swear, you go through those like no one else.”

“Hey! I’m used to fighting with both hands!” he defended, and it brought back the thought of a pair of blades, hidden in a trunk in the same room they were in.

The memory made Guinevere frown, and she shifted her head until she could see the small scar on her beloved’s neck. “Are you certain you do not want Galatine for the final leg of your journey?”

“I’m certain,” he replied immediately, and the queen sighed. “I won’t touch it again until I’ve finished my quest and proven to myself that I am ready to hold it again.”

“I know.” The bat’s eyes closed as she felt Gawain shift his weight so he could put an arm around her. “It just seems such a shame for such a fantastic treasure to be locked away, unused.”

Gawain was silent for a while before replying. “Since you seemed so intent on holding it when we first met, why don't you try wielding it yourself?” he asked, and Guinevere’s smile returned in an instant. 

“Do my ears deceive me?” she asked with a mock gasp, lifting her head back up from his shoulder. “Was that a _joke_ I just heard?”

“Silence, you!” Gawain shot back, though there was no true anger in his tone.

“Oh, but it’s such a momentous occasion!” she continued, falling dramatically onto his lap. “My dearest Gawain, discovering a sense of humor!”

“I’ve always had a sense of humor! You’ve just always been deaf to it!” he retorted, poking her side, prompting a screech of laughter from the bat.

_Damn him! He knew she was ticklish there!_

“You scoundrel!” she snapped in playful false anger. “I shall have your hand cut off for this!”

“Not with this sword, I hope,” he said, gesturing to the one at his hip, and Guinevere’s grin grew wider.

“ _Two_ jokes? By Gaia, you _must_ be in a good mood today!”

Gawain’s mouth opened, presumably for another snappy retort, but as he looked down at her, something in his violet gaze softened. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

Now it seemed it was Guinevere’s turn to blush. She sat up again, face still warm, pressing one more kiss to the red knight’s cheek. “It’s good to see you again, love.” She let out a sigh, resting her forehead to his temple. “But unfortunately, I must see you out soon. King Ban is to be arriving sometime today and I must finish preparations.”

Gawain shifted in surprise, but was careful not to accidentally push her off. “A king is coming today?”

“Yes indeed. I must say, your timing is impeccable… but as I’ve said before, I need to prepare both myself and this castle for his arrival.” She stood up, and he was beside her again in an instant, lingering for a moment before taking his helmet and placing it back on his head. “Hurry downstairs and you might surprise your siblings in the dining hall.”

Gawain nodded at the dismissal, heading back towards the door, but paused before opening it. “I… hope to see you again, after everything is done today.”

“Do not fret,” she responded, stepping towards him again and placing a hand on his back. “I shall be here, and take comfort in knowing you, too, will stay a while.” Her eyes dropped to his satchel, and a glimmer of pride welled up inside her. “You’ve been working very hard for very long, doing more than I once thought was possible in only a year. Soon your quest will be complete, and the treasure restored.”

Then, after a short pause, she pulled on his shoulder, turning him to face her. “I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

He started, his body jerking and telling her what his face, hidden by his visor, couldn’t. Yet the next moment, it was pushed up, and Guinevere saw him, with redness coloring his cheeks and warmth in his eyes. His lips pressed against her cheek, one last time. “Thank you, Guin,” he murmured, and the nickname coming from his mouth was enough to send another wave of heat to her face.

“Right, right, now off with you," she ordered, biting back a stammer. "I’ve got a big day ahead of me, and I don’t need you complaining that someone saw you leaving my chambers!”

“Right.” Instantly, Gawain’s tone became more professional, and though Guinevere hated to hear it, she knew it helped him retain a sense of normalcy about their situation, one that Gawain still struggled to come to terms with.

“By your leave, Sir Gawain,” she softly bid him farewell as he opened the door.

“Until next time, Your Majesty,” he replied, and soon after, the queen was left alone again in her room.

The bat sighed again, the brief joy she had felt at reuniting with Gawain feeling bittersweet as she considered the day ahead of her once more. As she made her way to her wardrobe to get dressed, she thought again about the rising threat against her home, and felt a fierce, burning determination in her soul to ensure that this visit went on without a problem. With King Ban’s insight and her own relationship with G.U.N., Emperor Ælle would fall, and soon enough, Gawain’s mission would be complete, her emerald would be restored, and they would all have less worry to weigh on their shoulders.

Everything would be fine. She just needed to get through today.

* * *

**(Apologies for the FFnet style end notes, but if I added them to the notes section, they'd be repeated for every chapter hereafter.)**

**Hey all, and welcome to the greatest storm! Thank you for your patience with the bonus works, but here's Return to Avalon! It's more ambitious than my last piece, and depending on how it goes, it might affect how I write the third story. Either way, I can feel this is going to be the one that's either everyone's favorite or least-favorite... let's hope it's an enjoyable read regardless!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight filtered through the drapes more harshly than usual, hitting Arthur’s closed eyelids, and the king groaned, burying his face deeper into soft fluff and a firm chest. His brain slowly woke up, recognizing the sound of chirping outside the window that rang in his ear, the familiar musky scent clinging to the soft fur that tickled his nose, and the warm, rhythmic, soothing sensation of one hand sliding from his head, down his spine, to join another hand right above his tail before raising and repeating the motion. Arthur sighed, relaxing under the touch, his own hands twitching and shifting until he was in a position to brace himself. The king lifted his head, and the stroking unfortunately stopped, but his eyes blinked open and quickly focused on crimson eyes, dark spines, scarred lips… 

What a treat it was to wake up every morning to Lancelot.

Arthur cleared his throat, sliding his tongue around his mouth to alleviate some of the dryness, admired the sight of Lancelot’s quills splayed across the pillow, and said, “You know, you _are_ permitted to wake me up when you do.”

“You fell asleep so quickly last night,” Lancelot replied, “and seemed so comfortable when I awoke. I didn’t dare ruin your rest.”

“Heh. You would say such a thing.” Arthur lowered his head once more onto his knight’s chest, fingers idly playing with Lancelot’s fur as he stared out the window. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see just how much light was spilling into the room, and he frowned, realizing that it must have been late morning. How long had Lancelot lied there, allowing him to sleep, unwilling to disturb him? The corners of his mouth quirked as a rush of fondness overcame him, and Arthur shifted his weight, getting into a position where he could easily and comfortably press a few groggy kisses to his lover’s neck. He heard him sigh, felt him relax, and the king indulged in this quiet, blissful moment he was allowed to take with his Lancelot.

He slowed down his reverent kisses when he felt Lancelot’s hands move from his lower back to his sides, and he took the opportunity to push himself up on his hands, looming over his knight. A light blush settled on Lancelot’s cheeks, and red eyes struggled to look directly at their king and yet refused to look away for very long. Arthur grinned, admiring everything about the man below him. “Good morning, Lance,” he cooed, and in return, Lancelot parted his lips, one hand lifting up to Arthur’s chest, and in a slow, tender, intimate gesture, he slid his fingers along the long scar that lay there. Some days, when Lancelot touched it, his eyes would cloud in fear and regret as memories came forth, recalling the scar’s origin and the night that, if everything had happened just a little differently, would have resulted in Arthur no longer being among them.

It was not one of those days, much to Arthur’s relief, and as Lancelot’s fingers kept tracing the line up and down his chest, his knight responded with a soft, “Good morning, Arthur.”

And Arthur drank in the sight of Lancelot relaxing in his bed, blushing as he caressed him, his eyes remaining soft, and the king was so _incredibly_ tempted to lower himself down to him, to let his lips kiss and his hands roam and to simply see where that morning would take them…

...but he had promised Guinevere that he would pull his weight today, and he wasn’t about to break that vow, especially when he had been allowed to sleep in for so long. Instead, he cheekily asked, “Does this mean that you’ve forgiven me for staying out late last night?”

Lancelot’s response was to still his hand and send him an unamused look.

Arthur laughed, lowering his head to plant a chaste kiss to Lancelot’s mouth, with a few extra small pecks to his scar, before shifting to the edge of the bed and stretching out his arms and legs. He felt the mattress dip and raise, and from the corner of his eye he saw Lancelot sit up, and then there came a low rumble that _clearly_ didn’t come from the bed. Arthur laughed again, twisting to the side to prod Lancelot in the ribs. “If you were that hungry, you should have woken me up! Don’t go and starve for my sake!”

Lancelot pushed his hand away, averting his gaze. “A late breakfast is hardly starving myself. Do not be ridiculous.”

“Your stomach tells me otherwise,” Arthur returned, and as though to agree with him, Lancelot’s stomach let out another growl, and the knight’s face went scarlet as he went over to the corner of the room where his armor lay. Chuckling, the king went to his own side of his room, separated by a hanging curtain, and prepared himself for the day.

First, he combed his quills with his fingers, not so eager to pull a brush through his fur when his hands did the job just fine. With his bedhead smoothed away, he took a towel and dipped it into the washbasin, pressing it to his face and shuddering at the cold sensation. He sped through the process of cleaning his face, his neck, his underarms and anywhere else he determined needed a quick rise. At this point, he would usually pull on his typical attire, but today was a special day, and so with a sigh, Arthur turned to the outfit that had been prepared from him: a white suit, similar to the one he had worn on his wedding day, but less festive and more conventionally formal with its red and gold trimmings.

Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he had ever worn a suit 一 with the exception, of course, of a suit of armor 一 but as he put this one on, he marvelled at just how quickly the castle’s staff had figured out what looked best on him. As he did up the buttons on the suit jacket, he glanced in the looking glass, noting how the white fabric washed out his grays and made the blue of his fur pop. As he smoothed out the ensemble, which fit him like a dream, and attached the red sash over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but notice that he looked fantastic in a white, red, and gold color scheme.

All the same, he would feel completely out of place if he didn’t add a few personal touches.

He pulled on his golden armored boots, fastened his cape over his shoulders, and set his crown carefully atop his head. He debated for a moment between putting on his usual golden gauntlets or the plain white gloves that had been prepared for him, but in the end, he went with the gloves. Too much armor on his person might be taken as a sign of aggression or distrust, and the king sighed as he slid the gloves on. He hated how his clothing choices could suggest so much, when all it truly meant was that he found comfort in his everyday attire.

All the same… Arthur couldn’t deny that he looked good. Swiping at his nose and giving his reflection a grin, he walked back out into his room, where Lancelot was standing dutifully in wait, armor already donned and helmet upon his head.

As Arthur walked to the door, Lancelot’s head turned toward him, and the knight ceased all movement. Arthur paused in front of the door, readjusting the sash over his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked, only to be met with utter silence from his knight. Arthur paused, hands falling from his clothes. “Lance? Are you feeling well?”

“Fine! I’m… I’m perfectly fine!”

Arthur’s eyes widened at the high-pitched and strained tone of voice, at the way Lancelot sped out the words in a messy attempt at sounding even remotely casual, and a new grin spread across his face. “Are you flustered?” he cooed, and the way Lancelot forced himself to look away, shoulders hunching in embarrassed shame was absolutely _splendid_ to behold. “No need to be so shy,” he continued, feeling his confidence raise at his lover's reaction. He lowered his hand onto Lancelot’s shoulder, easing his knight to turn back to face him. “I do clean up quite nicely, if I do say so myself,” he continued, unable to keep an edge of smugness from his tone.

“You and that ego of yours,” Lancelot growled, but Arthur could hear his breath hitch again as he took another look at him.

“You love it,” Arthur teased, and whether he was talking about his aforementioned ego, or how he looked in a suit 一 which definitely seemed to be on the forefront of Lancelot’s mind 一 didn’t seem to matter, because just like that, his knight was tongue-tied again. Arthur reached forward and lifted the visor on Lancelot's helmet, feeling his own heart pound at the sight of the knight’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Arthur was tempted. _Incredibly tempted._

But he pressed a soft kiss to Lancelot’s cheek, lifting his mouth to whisper in his ear. “I promise you, my dear Lance, once King Ban has finished his visit and all the intelligence has been recorded, I will meet you here again, and I will give you my full, undivided attention for as long as you desire it.”

Lancelot’s lips parted, though no words fell from them. Instead, another loud growl sounded from his gut, and the look of utter mortification on his face was priceless. Arthur chuckled softly and lowered the visor again, allowing his lover a modicum of dignity. “Go on,” he ordered. “Get something to eat. We need you ripe and ready for when our guest arrives.” Then, after a moment’s consideration, “And maybe you’d prefer a position guarding the door from the outside?”

Arthur could hear Lancelot swallow thickly. “I think that might be best.”

The king shot his knight one more grin. “Good to know.” With a final pat to his back, he guided Lancelot back to the door, where the knight left and turned the corner, out of sight. Arthur stood back, waiting a while in order to let Lancelot regain his composure, and tried to get himself back into a more professional mindset. This meeting could hold information that was key for Avalon’s survival and involvement in the Saxon war, and he went over what he could remember twice before exiting his chambers to meet up with Guinevere. If he had forgotten anything, she would know.

He hoped more than anything that this meeting would end on a good note.

* * *

A few hours later, Arthur was standing in the castle’s threshold, waiting for the signal to walk outside into the blustery courtyard to greet their guest. King Ban’s carriage had been spotted on the horizon, heading into the town of Camelot, and the air was thick with anticipation and silent as the grave.

Arthur stood in front with Guinevere by his side. She, too, had dressed up for the occasion, looking absolutely stunning in a long blue gown with a sheer blue shawl to match. Arthur figured that the dress had been picked to match his fur, much as his own suit matched hers. The thought almost made him laugh as he remembered that no one outside the castle knew the truth.

Right behind them were the handful of knights they had chosen to maintain security and secrecy during the meeting. During the discussion, the choices had been fairly obvious when they considered intelligence balanced with fighting ability and court manners. Sirs Lancelot, Tristan, and Bedivere all stood in line, solemn and attentive. Lancelot had chosen to stand behind the queen, and Arthur figured that was a good idea; he would have found it all too easy to turn around and start speaking with him to fill the silence. Bedivere stood behind him instead, and the chameleon’s unbreakable discipline exuded from him like an aura-filled cloud, reminding Arthur to keep his focus. Bedivere was incredible, to be sure, to have that kind of power over those around him. Between the two was Tristan, who seemed much better rested and prepared for the day ahead. A violet flower was tucked into one of the folds of her braided hair, likely a present from Yseult that she had forgotten to take out. The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched; Tristan had been growing her hair out in an attempt to be less recognizable in the event that King Mark ever sent out spies to find and reclaim Yseult, as well as to punish his niece for her treachery. In the town of Camelot it tended to work, though when it came to missions deeper into Avalon’s territory, Tristan needed extra help from one of Merlina’s transformation elixirs to keep her identity safe.

It was a complicated matter, but as far as Arthur was concerned, Tristan was worth it.

Standing in the back of the group were Merlina, who would be listening in to the proceedings as the Royal Wizard, with the job of casting or dispelling any enchantments as needed, Longclaw, who would be observing every interaction from beginning to end as the Senior Advisor to the King and Queen, and Vivien, whose own understanding of the Saxon attacks could prove useful to compare with what King Ban told them.

It all felt very intense and distrustful for a simple meeting to exchange information, especially information that Arthur still thought could have been sent via pigeon, but if it truly demanded this level of secrecy, then he had to play along.

The group heard the drawbridge begin to lower, and only a moment later, the large doors of the castle swung open, and they all headed out into the courtyard. “Remember not to stare,” Guinevere whispered to him, and Arthur mentally prepared himself for anything.

Yet no amount of mental preparation could have prepared him for _that._

It was as if something taken from a folk tale, a rumor spread by a person who had one too many drinks and the story only got more and more unsettling as it passed from one listener to the next, until the description sounded as though the sight was a vision from the underworld. A black, misty aura exuded from the carriage, and the daylight around them seemed to fade exponentially as it got closer. The temperature dipped, and the winds ceased to blow, and even Bedivere’s sharp focus seemed to be frazzled by such a strange shift in the air.

The carriage itself was black as the night, with cast iron pieces covering the sides in odd swirling and spiking patterns. It was drawn by two coal black horses, larger than any others Arthur had ever seen in his life, and the beasts seemed to kick up clouds of dust with every mighty footfall, adding to the darkness that seemed to follow the Benwick King’s carriage. The carriage stopped in the courtyard, cast iron wheels coming to a halt, and the coachman 一 an odd-looking creature with glazed red eyes 一 hopped off to open the door.

Arthur was still getting used to the sight of the coachman, who looked like no creature he had ever seen before, but King Ban was enough to make his jaw almost drop.

The first thing he saw was the tip of a long, black horn, followed by a spiked head with a twin horn at the other end. His shoulders were almost as wide as the horns on his head, stretching out far, and from the sleeves of his black robe, Arthur could see three clawed fingers protrude. The robe was covered in chains, large and gleaming despite the darkness that surrounded the visiting king, with many charms with the same swirly, spiky patterns that appeared on the carriage; evidently important Benwick symbols. King Ban turned his head toward them all, and three glowing red eyes froze them all in place.

But the most unsettling thing was how the king floated over to them like a ghost; he had no visible feet, hovering high above the ground, and Arthur had to mentally slap himself to remember to bow his head as King Ban dipped his forth.

“Welcome to Avalon, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” King Ban’s voice was a deep, raspy one, seeming to come from the depths of his being, and it sent prickles down Arthur’s spine, pushing his quills to stand on end. “We thank you highly for your understanding of the situation, and we request to begin the meeting posthaste, if we may.”

“We see no issue with that.” This time, it was Guinevere who spoke, having stepped forward next to Arthur and giving King Ban a respectful curtsy. “We do not wish to take up any more of your time than necessary.”

The greetings were out of the way; any introductions could be done in the meeting room once they were all settled in. The three sovereigns made their way to the castle, where the knights and other members of the welcoming party stood in wait. Merlina’s eyes were obviously wide, but she made a valiant effort to appear calm and respectful. As King Ban passed her by, she shivered, but a glance at the stoic Lady Vivien seemed to calm her nerves. Vivien herself had her eyebrows raised, but the woman rarely showed too much emotion if she could help it. Unflappable Lady Longclaw took the lead, filling King Ban in about the plan for the meeting, and the knights waited at their posts, ready to bring up the rear.

...Was it just Arthur’s imagination, or did he see their esteemed guest spare Sir Lancelot a curious passing glance?

But the thought was pushed away as they all made their way through the halls of the castle, and more pressing matters came to the forefront of Arthur’s mind. What was this information that King Ban needed to tell him? Why had he come personally, instead of sending a messenger? 

As they filed into the meeting room, where the remaining advisors stood in wait, bowing to their sovereigns, he figured he would find out soon enough.

* * *

Even after sixteen years of being king, Arthur still despised meetings. He hated how the introductions dragged on 一 even worse now that every last advisor had to greet their visitor and be greeted in turn 一 and all the painfully boring iteration and reiteration of the meeting’s itinerary and planning. He glanced over at the door where Sir Bedivere stood guard by the handle; Sirs Tristan and Lancelot were standing guard outside. Sir Bedivere stood stock-still, but his tail seemed more tightly coiled than usual with anticipation for anything to happen aside from the same dull song and dance. Even Guinevere, the picture of royal perfection and elegance, seemed to be struggling as her eyes drooped, though Arthur figured with a small pang of guilt that might have been partly due to him staying out late and keeping the others up.

But finally, _finally,_ they were ready to get into the matter at hand.

“We suppose it is time for us to reveal to you what has been irking us for a while,” King Ban rasped, effectively silencing the room. “We hope that, with our aid, you may be able to protect yourselves and others from the invading Saxons.” One large hand searched over his person, and not a soul dared make a sound until he spoke again. “Tell me… have you heard of the Chaos Emeralds?”

Arthur frowned, thinking back to all the texts on Chaos he had ever read, but nothing came to mind. All his advisors seemed equally puzzled, and a glance over at Guinevere seemed to confirm that she had no inkling about what King Ban was talking about either. King Ban’s red gaze swept over the room in gentle amazement.

“Curious,” he murmured, bringing his large hand away from his robes and resting it, closed into a fist and with the fingers upturned, onto the table. “It seems as though the secret has been guarded as agreed, even after so many years… We may be committing a grave sin by revealing such information, but as it stands, we do not have a choice.”

The hand opened, and resting in King Ban’s hand was a purple gemstone that seemed to float just as he did.

From next to him, Arthur heard his wife gasp in delight.

“The story behind these stones is long, and if you wish to hear it, we will be glad to tell it after we’ve said our piece,” King Ban continued, shifting his attention specifically to Arthur and Guinevere. “What you must know is that these gems contain untold power. Power that feeds off of emotion and manifests in elemental energy. Please…” He held the gem in front of Arthur. “Give it a try.”

Arthur didn’t hesitate to hold out his hand and allow the fellow king to rest the purple stone in his grasp. This meeting was about answers, not deceit, and he was ready to understand what he needed to know in order to protect his people. The emerald hit his hand, and an intense wave of pure _**anguish**_ overcame him, a despair so grim and potent that it brought him back to the darkest points of his life, and as his mind struggled with the sudden change in emotion, the gem glowed and started sending out waves of darkness that stifled the room until King Ban took the gemstone back. Arthur gasped, feeling himself return to normal, hardly hearing the concerned cries all around him as he stared at the other king and his magical stone.

“As you have no doubt felt, this emerald feeds off of sadness and transforms it into darkness,” King Ban explained, carrying on as though the gem hadn’t just delved into the darkest parts of Arthur's mind and set them free into the air around them. Arthur was only half aware of Guinevere’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight as he returned to his senses. He patted his own hand on hers, a silent sign that he was okay, and focused again on the stone.

“It also seemed to draw those emotions out,” he remarked, and all around him, he saw the shifts as people sat back down, still unnerved but no longer panicked.

“Correct,” King Ban rasped. “It takes a great deal of emotional fortitude to handle such a powerful item… or a strong grasp on magic, as I have.”

_Well,_ Arthur figured as he heaved a breath, _that explains a few things._

“Unfortunately, that makes these emeralds a powerful weapon if handled by the wrong person.”

“Do you mean the Saxons?” Guinevere asked, quick as a whip, and King Ban nodded his head in approval.

“Well deduced. Yes, it seems as though Emperor Ælle has discovered the existence of these emeralds, and is moving to collect them. Such is the reason for his recent siege on Spiral, and his successful attack on Soleanna.”

Arthur barely had a moment to process this information and the questions that came with it when a sharp noise redirected his attention; Vivien had stood up from her seat, face uncharacteristically stricken.

“E-Excuse me,” she apologized softly, “but I must… Excuse me.”

With that, she rushed from the room, with Bedivere recovering from the sudden outburst quickly enough to open the door and close it after her. The incident seemed to pique King Ban’s curiosity, as his eyes lingered at the door as it shut behind her, and Merlina bit her lip, seeming to teeter on the edge of her seat, as though she wished to follow and check on Vivien’s wellbeing. Arthur felt a pang of sympathy for Vivien; Soleanna, after all, had been her home, and to hear precisely _why_ it had been attacked…

_...Or had she known all along?_

No sooner had the thought come to him, when Guinevere spoke up again. “Our deepest apologies, Your Majesty, for Lady Vivien’s hasty departure. She has not been feeling well as of late. We hope you do not take offense.”

It was a lie 一 Vivien had been in great health as far as Arthur could remember 一 but it satisfied King Ban and avoided any further questioning on the matter. Arthur gave his wife a discreet nod of the head, and she responded with a wink. The king decided it was his turn to steer the meeting back on track.

“You speak of many emeralds, then. I suppose we ought to know how many there are, and where they are being kept.”

“You would be right,” King Ban agreed, pocketing the purple emerald and pulling out a map. He unfurled it onto the table in front of him, and Arthur saw a handful of colored dots, circled names, crosses and arrows decorating it. “This map should be accurate as of today. There are seven emeralds total: one belongs to me, and is generally hidden in Benwick Kingdom.” One large, clawed finger tapped the purple dot over Benwick territory on the map. “One belonged to Soleanna,” he continued, tapping the crossed out kingdom on the map, then tracing the arrow that pointed to a blue dot in the Saxon Empire. “As of now, it is in possession of the emperor.”

Next, he tapped a heavily circled part of the map. “Spiral Kingdom, despite being attacked, still has their emerald hidden, though how much longer they can hold the Saxons off is questionable. I hope you will remember this.”

Arthur swallowed as he started to realize just how much deeper this war went than he had anticipated. “Of course.”

King Ban’s fingers tapped four more dots on the map. “Acorn. Caerleon. Carhaix. Celliwig. All their emeralds have been accounted for, and all are in danger of a similar siege.” The visitor slid the map further down the table, and the advisors craned their necks to get a glimpse of it, with several taking notes.

Arthur, Guinevere, and Merlina, however, kept their focus on King Ban.

“With so much elemental power,” Merlina spoke, surprising them all, “I can only assume something great and terrible happens when they are all in a set?”

The dark king nodded, eyes closing slowly. “When all seven are collected, a miracle is assumed to happen. The Emeralds of Chaos are not as powerful as the gods themselves, but they might be if all together.”

Arthur remembered fighting the Saxon invaders. Arthur remembered their twisted emperor. Arthur remembered his failure to stop him before things got worse, and now, with these emeralds in play, more powerful than any weapon they could procure…

“Please. Tell us everything we need to know.”

* * *

Arthur’s head swam with information as the meeting drew to a close, and he knew he would need to review it with Guinevere a few times before he remembered it all. King Ban had been gracious enough to let them keep the map depicting the locations of the emeralds, saying that they would do well to redirect military strategies and support to those areas.

“We implore you to think over what you will do to protect us all from the Saxons,” he had said in the middle of all the questions his advisors had posed, and it left Arthur with a strong sense of shock that there was such a massive piece to the puzzle of the war that he had been missing all along. The emerald King Ban had brought with him was no joke; Arthur could still remember the overwhelming despair that had taken hold of him, and the waves of darkness he had unleashed because of it. No one else, not even Guinevere, had dared touch the emerald thereafter.

Another thing that stuck with him was the legend behind the emeralds origins, though that hardly surprised him; a good story stuck with him much easier than strict facts. Doubly so a good tale about Chaos.

The legend told that the water god had decided to bless the lands with a fraction of godly power, to see what mortalkind would create with more access to the gifts of the divine. The six gods had come together at Chaos’ behest, each blessing a gem and imbuing it with powerful magic from one of the six elements, and in a show of unity, they had all blessed a seventh gem. Water, Earth, Wind, Fire, Light, and Darkness had all come together to create a vessel for Energy. Once finished, Chaos had taken the emeralds and brought them to the lands.

Almost immediately, disaster struck. The gods had forgotten how susceptible to emotion mortalkind was, and the elemental power of the emeralds came out explosively, causing destruction and ruin by impulsive wielders until Chaos, ashamed of their oversight, scattered the gems with the sacred instructions to keep them hidden.

Apparently, it had worked, as a millennium had passed and the existence of these stones had remained a secret from Avalon, G.U.N. and Saxony, to name a few. The thought that seven kingdoms had all kept this secret for so long boggled Arthur’s mind, but the knowledge that Emperor Ælle had somehow uncovered the secret and was aiming to collect them all to aid his conquest?

Arthur knew he couldn’t afford to let that happen.

King Ban left in a hurry with little fanfare, explaining that G.U.N. was his final stop to spread his message before he returned home, and Arthur was grateful for the excuse to not see him off. His head was still spinning as he left the room, having scheduled a briefing the next day. Sirs Lancelot and Tristan were still standing dutifully outside, and Arthur was saved from answering any questions by Merlina worriedly asking, “Vivien?”

“Down the hall, around the corner,” Tristan answered, pointing to the left.

“You didn’t follow her?” Guinevere asked.

Arthur could see Tristan’s mouth quirk in a small smile. “No need. She’s in good hands.”

Lancelot’s nod confirmed it, but all the same, Merlina dashed down the hall. With a quick nod to Guinevere and the knights, Arthur rushed after her, and was greeted with the sight of Vivien sitting on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, with Smithy sitting next to her, patting her on the back. His brother looked up at them both, giving them a small smile in welcome and scooting to the side as Merlina knelt down.

“Viv?”

Vivien lifted her head, her jaw clenched in stony concentration, but it relaxed into something less intense as she saw the newcomers. “I’m sorry for any trouble I caused,” she said, carefully neutral as always, even as Merlina pulled her into a hug.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I wanted to leave after you, to make sure you weren’t alone, but I…”

“Staying behind was the right thing to do,” Vivien replied firmly as she relaxed, lifting her arms to return the hug. Her head rested against Merlina's, flame-red hair mixing with violet. “Your presence in that meeting was important, and… it turns out, I wasn’t alone.”

Vivien looked over to Smithy, who gave her a smile and a small salute. “It was no problem,” he assured, and though Merlina still looked doubtful, she held her tongue as she helped Vivien to her feet.

Vivien looked over at Arthur and took a deep breath. “I suppose you have some questions for me…”

“I do,” Arthur affirmed, “but mostly to confirm the facts that you are privy to. This can be done at tomorrow’s meeting…” His voice trailed off as he noticed her shoulders tense up. “...or I could take a written statement from you before it begins, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Vivien relaxed again, and almost smiled as she bowed her head to him. “The latter would be preferable. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Arthur waved a hand. “It’s no trouble at all. Now I think we could all use something to eat and a chance to unwind.” He glanced down at his brother, still sitting on the ground, and reached out to him. “And you could use a hand.”

Smithy rolled his eyes, but took the hand offered to him. “I can stand on my own.”

“Can you really?” Arthur teased, and just like that, Smithy put all his weight on Arthur’s arm, almost pulling the hedgehog off his feet.

“Oh no, you're right! It seems as though I’ve forgotten how to stand! You’ll have to drag me around!”

Arthur laughed. “You great oaf! I can hardly budge you!”

The fox grinned. “Oh dear, seems as though I’ll have to stay here forever. My big brother is too weak to move me.”

“I’ll show you weak!” Arthur retorted, kneeling to the ground as though planning on lifting his brother, but tickling him at the neck instead. As Smithy screeched and flailed, Arthur’s laughter returned, and even Merlina and Vivien seemed in better spirits.

Yet King Ban’s question kept returning to his head. What was he prepared to do for the safety of Avalon and the other kingdoms?

He would need to figure that out, sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints at King Ban* Wonder who that could be...
> 
> It's almost a month later, but I finally got this out! Lost steam during the exposition dumping, but hopefully I didn't forget to cover any information. If I did, I can always add it next chapter, so if you have a question, please ask so I can clarify!
> 
> The Chaos Emeralds make an appearance! I've based their powers off the World Rings from Sonic and the Secret Rings, with all of them drawing off of a specific emotion, and adding a bit of in-universe religious and elemental lore. Hope it was a fun read!
> 
> I'll be explaining the names of the other kingdoms in future chapters, as they become relevant.
> 
> Next chapter: Arthur and Guin keep discussing their options in junction with this new aspect to the war, and Lancelot offers to seek Nimue's guidance.


	3. Chapter 3

"So what options do we have?"

Arthur's eyes shifted from Longclaw to Guinevere, and then back again. He drummed his fingers against the table, feeling the old, familiar pressure of incredible responsibility push down on him from above. Luckily, this was not a massive meeting with every advisor telling him the same terrifying facts over and over again, with different words and in varying degrees of urgency. It was just him, his wife, his favorite advisor, and his sword.

This, he could handle.

Longclaw cleared her throat, the feathers around her neck ruffling as they did whenever she had to repeat some hard facts. “The knowledge of the Chaos Emeralds has been suppressed inside the castle walls. Much like… _other_ aspects of castle life…”

At that, Arthur and Guinevere shot each other a small smirk.

“...it is understood that this is information to be withheld from the general public, at least for the time being, as we figure out what to do for our kingdom and the others in light of this new power in play.”

Arthur nodded, leaning back in his chair. A week had passed since King Ban’s visit, and in the midst of every other part of governance, the existence of the Emeralds of Chaos had added another frantic layer to every meeting and conversation. Vivien’s hesitant admittance to King Ban’s claims had cemented the sense of urgency in everyone who knew the details of the visit, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to make a final decision and be done with this stressful sitting and waiting for a consensus.

Unfortunately, it was never that simple.

“The dilemma is, as we understand, what we should do now that we know about these emeralds,” Longclaw continued, elegantly reducing the long, complicated speeches that the other advisors so loved to make into something much easier to retain. “We have a few options, namely, to send additional infantry to the kingdoms in possession of one, in the hopes that we will obtain Emperor Ælle’s surrender before any more damage is done.” Longclaw paused, clicking her beak once in mild annoyance. “This is, of course, very unlikely.”

“Direct action against the Saxons is required if we are to go through with this first option,” Caliburn supplied from Arthur’s hip, and the king took a deep breath in and out.

“It may also leave Avalon in a lurch if we send out too much assistance,” Guinevere pointed out. Her finger was already twirling in her hair, and Arthur felt his fingers drum more quickly at the revelation.

“Another option is to do nothing out of the ordinary.” Longclaw shifted from one sheet of notes to another. “We keep sending reinforcements to Soleanna and Spiral, and we do not draw attention to Avalon.”

“No,” Arthur refused immediately, as he always did. “We’re not turning a blind eye to this. Not when we might be able to stop another catastrophe before it happens.”

Longclaw’s beak twitched in amusement as she slid that page of notes to the side. Typically, Arthur’s outright dismissal of this option would be met with dissent from various advisors, all chiming in at once to give their opinion on the matter, but Longclaw knew him best. She knew that he would never be persuaded.

Besides, it was Arthur’s resolve to do right by as many as possible that led him to becoming king, and that resolve stretched beyond the borders of Avalon.

“Another option is to claim the emeralds ourselves and bring them to our kingdom for safekeeping. Of course, this option comes with the peril of putting Avalon directly in the sights of the Saxon Empire. Not to mention, taking the remaining emeralds might be seen as a siege of power; it won’t make you very popular among the other kingdoms, and may damage our relationships and alliances.”

“And yet, it still sounds like the best option.” Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. He didn’t relish the idea of stepping in so forcefully, but when the next target for a Saxon attack was one in six, he couldn’t help but feel as though reducing the targets would make it easier to deflect any incoming attacks. All the same, the emeralds were very powerful; Arthur knew himself, and he knew that he wouldn’t wield them all just to become the most powerful man in all the lands, but others might see his intentions as such. He wouldn’t blame them. In such a war, paranoia ran rampant and sometimes alliances crumbled into dust. To claim even one emerald meant to shift power in his favor after a millennia of secrecy.

_Was the Saxon takeover really enough to merit such a move?_

Arthur believed it was. Sadly, many did not, and when it came to the sovereigns of the other kingdoms, the same result might stare him in the face.

Pride and politics certainly could make a war complicated.

To his left, Arthur heard a sigh, and when he opened his eyes, he could see Guinevere glowering at nothing in particular. “I’m inclined to agree,” she said, sounding more tired than she had in ages, and Arthur’s gut twisted as he remembered that he wasn’t the only one shouldering this decision. “At the very least to send out messengers, say that we know, and offer to fortify defences or take the gems for protection.”

“The king is about to say that the protection would be for naught if the emperor still focuses his invasions on the kingdoms who have given up their emeralds,” Caliburn interjected before Arthur had even finished breathing in. “And thus, he would rather signpost that we have taken them.”

“Which is a decision that puts Avalon at great risk,” Longclaw finished.

Guinevere sighed and removed her finger from her snowy white locks. Arthur’s fingers stilled in their drumming. It seemed, even without the sea of advisors making things frustrating and complicated, there was still no clear answer.

“This is not a situation where we will come out in a winning situation,” Caliburn said, as though reading Arthur’s mind. “Any victory will be pyrrhic as far as we can tell.”

“Then we’ll have to do our best,” Guinevere said with an air of finality. “We’ve made our views clear enough, wouldn’t you say?”

“The others won’t be pleased,” Longclaw warned as she took up her papers again. “But I will let them know your thoughts and do my best to sway them.”

Arthur bit back a groan. Though the monarchs had the largest authority, it was the right of the council to plan meetings to sway their decisions, and though they had the power to go ahead with their own plans, it was considered ‘good form’ to listen to the council and take their opinions to heart before any final decisions were made. Arthur knew, all too well, that ignoring ‘good form’ led to more trouble than it was worth. “Thank you, Lady Longclaw. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Hardly,” the owl returned. “This is simply my job.” However, her eyes were soft as she bowed to them both. “If I may, Your Majesties?”

Arthur nodded back at her. “You are dismissed.”

As the door closed behind Longclaw, both sovereigns slumped in their chairs. Arthur’s head lolled to one side, taking in the sight of Guinevere resting her head in her hands with her elbows propped on the table. Guilt gnawed at Arthur again; he knew he relied on his wife’s exceptional governmental and organizational skills far too often. He had relied on her to set up King Ban’s visit, had relied on her to get back into the public graces after his slip up on the original fight against the Saxons, and during every issue in between, Guinevere had been there, helping pick up the pieces.

No wonder she looked so burnt out. Arthur fought back a grimace as anxiety swept over him, telling him that he took too much from her and gave so little, that he depended on her and had taken a backseat, dropping a kingdom onto her lap with little to no sympathy.

_I’m a crap husband,_ his mind said.

“No matter what happens, I’ll stick by the decisions we make,” his mouth said instead, and Arthur saw some of the tension in her wings ebb. The queen lifted her face from her hands, and teal eyes peeked over at him, softer than before.

“You had better,” she returned, but it was a gentle quip. All the same, Arthur knew he needed to step up more, for her sake as well as his own.

_What kind of king dropped all of his issues for someone else to bear?_

“Guin?”

“Yes darling?”

“I mean it. I’ll stand by you.”

She was silent for a moment before sitting up, smiling warmly at him. “I know you will,” she replied, and a piece of Arthur’s anxieties went away. “Now, what do you say about some lunch?”

He grinned back at her. “I’d say that sounds divine right about now.”

They stood up and exited the room, tired of thinking about the same issues over and over again. “I wonder,” Arthur remarked as they made their way down the hall, “how it is that we’ve never been able to uncover information about the emeralds before now.”

“And by ‘we’, you mean myself, correct?”

Arthur smirked at his wife. “Sharp as always.”

“My dear, out of the two of us, who is the one who always does her research?” Guinevere returned, prodding his shoulder. “But you are right, it’s impressive how well-kept this secret was, to keep it from both Avalon and G.U.N… though I have a theory.”

“Go on,” Arthur urged, and the look on Guinevere’s face changed to one of contemplation.

“I think it may have to do with the ancient emerald of Angel Village.”

“The one you and Gawain are set on restoring?”

“The very same. Angel Village borders G.U.N. territory. It might have even been a part of both kingdoms at one point, centuries back. While all the other kingdoms got their emeralds and the powers they held… perhaps we had a similar treasure of our own, secret like the others, but lost to time and circumstance.”

Arthur considered it. He didn’t know most of the intricacies of history, and rarely did many facts stick with him if read in a dry, boring text, but he trusted Guinevere to make educated guesses based on her own studies. A grand emerald, a secret held by both Avalon and G.U.N. and perhaps with powers of its own?

As they made their way to the dining hall, it bothered him to think that perhaps no one would ever truly know the full picture of their history and the important secrets hidden therein.

* * *

Lancelot’s eyes flickered between the two of them as he ate, obvious worry creased into his features. As much as Arthur enjoyed it when he captured Lancelot's gaze, being stared at in concern was not nearly as enjoyable. Even Galahad, who still had trouble reading the atmosphere more often than not, was glancing at them in worry as he slid his stew around in his bowl with his spoon, and Arthur had to wonder just how terrible he and Guinevere looked at this point.

Lancelot’s eyes shot from Guinevere back to Arthur, and Arthur could read them like a book. Lancelot wanted to know if there was any progress made, but hesitated to say anything for fear of causing them any additional stress. Arthur sighed, giving a small shake of his head, and Lancelot dropped his gaze back to his salad, almost managing to conceal his disappointment.

Arthur felt about ready to scream at the world to give him a path he was allowed to follow already. He _hated_ this, feeling _trapped_ in a situation where all the ways out were bad, and yet he wasn’t allowed to move forward with any of them!

Blessedly, Galahad, who seemed overwhelmed by the tension in the air that covered them all like a shroud, broke the silence and distracted Arthur from the thoughts inside his head. “Erm… Auntie Guin?”

The queen blinked as she was also drawn from her thoughts, smiling warmly at the boy. “Yes dear?”

“Is there any way I may help?”

Guinevere smiled sadly, letting her spoon slip between her fingers and rest on the rim of her soup bowl. “I’m afraid not. This is an issue that is more complicated than it appears. It cannot be solved by one person alone.”

“And there’s not a single thing we can do? Nothing at all?” Galahad’s eyes roved from one person to the next in dismay. “Father? Auntie Guin? Arthur?”

Arthur fought back a smile. He rather liked it that Galahad called him by name, now. Though he had already been a prominent and familiar figure in the boy’s life, the change in his and Lancelot’s relationship had led to them treating each other in a somewhat different light. Galahad had begun to slip into more familiar terms with him, and Arthur was glad for it. He lacked a special title as ‘Auntie Guin’ had, but the king hardly minded. Especially since ‘Uncle Arthur’ didn’t fit quite right and, given the nature of his relationship with the boy’s father, he could technically be considered… 

He loved Galahad, no doubt about it, but… he wasn’t ready to call him a son. Not when Merlina’s prophecy still echoed in his ears.

“We have to allow more time to thoroughly discuss this issue,” Arthur said, unable to hide his reluctant resignation. “Though time is of the essence, a bad decision here could cost us more than we could imagine.”

Guinevere let out a defeated exhale at that, and the sound made the weight continue to pile up on Arthur’s conscience. Right now, at that moment, while they were sitting inside, eating lunch, safe and warm, people were dying. People were _dying,_ and he didn’t know what the right move was to make.

“If I may…”

Arthur’s ears perked up at Lancelot’s voice. The dark knight looked between the two of them, and at their nod of assent, he continued. “Perhaps my mother might have some input on the situation. She has lived a long time, and might know more about these emeralds. She may also know protective enchantments that could, at the very least, be taught to the other kingdoms to keep them from falling into the Saxons’ hands.”

Arthur took a sip of water, considering Lancelot’s suggestion. The Lady of the Lake might have been around when the Emeralds of Chaos were first brought to the lands. She could have firsthand accounts of their true power, as well as meaningful insight into what to do next, now that their existence was not so secret anymore.

“It certainly can’t hurt,” Guinevere said as Arthur wiped the excess moisture from his lips, and Galahad brightened up at the knowledge that something could be done. “Anything that could get us a step closer to a plan would be a great help.”

“In that case, I shall head out this afternoon,” Lancelot declared, and Galahad, in his rising excitement, stood up from his chair.

“And I will go as well!”

“Have you forgotten already?” Lancelot asked sternly. “You’ve a task already this afternoon.”

Galahad wilted, his hands bracing himself on the table. “But… Father, please! I want to help, and I haven’t seen Grandmother in so long! Perhaps I could ask--”

“Galahad,” Lancelot said sternly, and the boy shut his mouth. “You’ve been assigned to escort the merchant carriages to the border after the final harvest of the year. I don’t suppose I have to remind you how important a job this is?”

Galahad sat back down, eyes looking down at his lap. “No, Father.”

“You may visit your grandmother tomorrow on your own time if you wish. I’m sure she would be delighted to see you. But asking her guidance is not a two-man task, and especially not when you have a responsibility already.” Lancelot set down his fork, shifting in his seat to better face his son. “A large part of being a knight is following the instructions you are given, to show diligence and integrity. I know you want to help, but sometimes the best help is to do what you were told.”

“I understand.”

Silence descended on the group again, though this time it was thickened by Galahad’s cold, stony displeasure and Lancelot’s stubborn sternness. Once his stew was finished, the Silver Knight stood and left without so much as a goodbye, and the tension in the air only seemed to grow until it suffocated them all.

It was a relief for lunch to end, and that was rarely a thought Arthur ever had.

“Do you think I was too harsh on him?” Lancelot asked as they made their way to his quarters. Though the knight had taken up semi-permanent residence in Arthur’s chambers, his room was still his for storage and a space to himself.

Arthur considered it. “You weren’t wrong, but you might have driven your point too far. I think he understood before you explained in-depth.”

Lancelot sighed, packing a small notebook and an ink pen in his satchel. “I just don’t want him to lose sight of the bigger picture, especially now that he’s a teenager. I want to be the best father I can be and keep him on the right path, but if that comes at the expense of his trust and love for me…”

“I don’t think Galahad could dislike you even if he tried,” Arthur pointed out, slinging one arm over Lancelot’s shoulders, in an effort to comfort him. “You might overstep sometimes, but you mean well. Galahad knows this, and he loves you.”

Lancelot exhaled, leaning in to the king’s touch. “I suppose you’re right. It just… hurts to see him so unhappy with me… and I cannot say that I do not share his feelings. When I see you and Guin so worn down by everything, I just want to take your pains and crush them all in my hands.”

Arthur felt a gentle rush of affection course through him, and he pressed a soft kiss to Lancelot’s cheek. “Thank you, Lance. It is not necessary, but thank you.”

“I don’t care if it’s necessary or not, I will do whatever I can to support you.” Lancelot’s hand reached out for his, twining their fingers together. “I may not be your spouse, but I am still here to halve your burdens in any way I can.”

Arthur felt a blush come to his cheeks, and he rested his head forward until their foreheads touched together. “You romantic,” he teased quietly. A low, annoyed growl escaped the knight, causing the king to chuckle. “Do not fret… I rather like that about you.”

Their fingers clenched together more tightly. Two pairs of eyes closed, basking in the moment together.

“Until the day I die… I will remain by your side.”

“Just make sure that day does not come soon.”

“It won’t. I promise.”

Arthur raised his free hand to cup Lancelot’s cheek, planting a soft kiss onto the other one. “Thank you again for doing this for me.”

“Think nothing of it. It is my duty as a knight to my rulers and my kingdom.”

“Right, right… And Lance? Do not worry about Galahad. He will not be upset forever. By the time you come back, I’m sure he will be ready to work out what happened at lunch with you.”

Lancelot’s eyes blinked open, shifting from downcast to resolute. “In that case, I should be off.”

Arthur nodded, dropping his hand from Lancelot’s face to join his other at Lancelot’s hand. “Safe travels, my Lancelot.” And then, just because he couldn’t resist seeing his knight’s face flood with color one more time, “I love you.”

As predicted, a blush spread across Lancelot’s cheeks before the knight slammed his visor down. “I love you, too,” came the soft murmur. “See you soon.”

And with one final squeeze to their joined hands, Lancelot slipped away and out of the room.

* * *

That night, as Arthur drowsily prepared for bed after going over and approving meetings for the following day, he noticed that Lancelot had not yet returned. As he climbed into bed, alone for the first time in a year, he figured that Nimue either had so much to tell him that he spent the night at Misty Lake, or that she needed ingredients or artifacts to help and Lancelot was out fetching them for her.

Though he wasn’t worried, the absence of his beloved bedmate still made it difficult to fall asleep.

* * *

The next day was awful.

Long, boring meetings, in which over half of the royal council made their opinions known against the king and queen’s suggested plans. A day of hearing arguments that made him second-guess himself. A day of little food, little rest, and no progress.

As Arthur collapsed into bed that night, he noticed that he was alone again right before he passed out.

* * *

By the following day, Arthur was getting worried.

He wasn’t alone. Lancelot’s absence had left a mark on Guinevere, who was tugging at her hair more than usual, and Galahad, who was noticeably less cheerful. The three sat together at lunch again, glancing at the empty fourth seat.

“Maybe someone should check in with Grandmother?” Galahad suggested. The boy’s hands were shaking as he lifted his drink to his lips. “She would… she would know where he is, or what is taking him so long to come back.”

The king and queen exchanged worried glances. They still had meetings to attend to, but like Galahad, Lancelot’s whereabouts weighed heavily on their minds, so much so that it was affecting their ability to focus on the information presented to them.

_He would have sent a message by now, surely… Either him or Nimue…_

Guinevere cleared her throat, already looking unhappy. “In that case, I say Arthur goes to Misty Lake after lunch. I will excuse his absence and update him accordingly.”

Arthur frowned. Though the idea of attending another meeting was nothing short of hellish for him, to leave her _alone_ to face it was… “Guin, you’ve done so much already. I told you that I would--”

“You’re the fastest one of the two of us,” she interrupted firmly. “And I would rather have an answer sooner for my peace of mind, and I think Galahad would, too.”

Arthur had no argument. He pinched his lips shut and nodded in agreement.

“May I come, too?” Galahad asked, leaning forward until his chestplate knocked against the table with a metallic clinking noise. “I don’t… I don’t want Father to think I’m still angry with him. I keep thinking about it and I can’t sleep and…”

The guilt was swimming behind Galahad’s eyes like tears, and neither Arthur nor Guinevere could say no.

Soon later, Arthur was running through the trees with Galahad in tow, the younger hedgehog levitating and allowing himself to be pulled along at Arthur’s grand speed. The journey to Misty Lake was a familiar one, one that the king knew by heart and could follow blindfolded, and though the desire for answers pushed him forward, trepidation almost halted his steps. Arthur was worried about what he would find out when he reached Nimue’s home.

Was Lancelot truly okay, simply gone on a quest and having left Nimue with the request to avoid disturbing himself and Guinevere while they had so much going on to deal with? Or did something happen to his lover?

He would get his answer soon, and he was afraid of what he would find out, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate.

The clearing came up ahead and Arthur started to slow down, keeping his grip tight on Galahad’s hand, lest the momentum carry them both into the lake’s dark depths. The fog hung low, as it always did, and not a soul was in sight. Arthur swallowed, his throat dry after his sprint through the forest, but Galahad beat him to the punch as he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out “Grandmother!” loud enough to scare the birds from the nearby trees.

The mist parted like an intangible curtain, and from the waters rose the fair lady, youthful and lovely as ever. Her eyes lit up in delight and surprise at the sight of her visitors, but a crease of worry marred her forehead as she made her way forward and saw the state they were in.

“Your Majesty, Galahad. What a lovely surprise to see you! Is something the matter?” A gloved hand reached out and ran through Galahad’s spines where they jutted out from his helmet. “You both appear out of sorts.”

Arthur felt himself shake, cold terror gnawing at his gut as Nimue’s words suggested his worst fears. Still, he _had_ to know.

“There has been a change in the course of the war with the Saxons,” he said, watching Nimue’s face change from a concerned look to a curious one. Another bad sign. “We have been having some trouble figuring out our next steps, and it was Lancelot that suggested to come here and ask your guidance.”

“Is that all?” Nimue asked, and it was like a punch to the gut. “Tell me all about it, and I will impart what I may.”

“No,” Arthur said, intensity radiating from his tone. “What I mean is, it was _Lancelot_ that suggested that _he_ come here.”

The Lady of the Lake frowned. “But you came instead? What exactly is the problem?”

_Oh no… Oh no oh no oh no…_

“Father left to find you two days ago,” Galahad said, voice quiet, and Nimue’s eyes widened in shock.

_Oh no oh no please don’t tell me that…_

“I haven’t seen my son at all for weeks.”

Arthur felt the world beneath him become unsteady, and he didn’t remember falling to his knees as the reality that **_Lancelot had gone missing_** set in, but his hands were on the grass as Galahad cried out, “Where is he? _Where is my father?”_

The cold autumn winds blew past them all, but provided no answers.

* * *

In the clutches of his captor, Lancelot kept struggling. His eyes blinked over and over, yet sight did not return to him, his world drowned in a sea of darkness. His mouth opened again and again, but his voice never came forth. His bodily thrashes were weakened after so long without food or water, and he found himself panting and blacking out as time went on. His bindings were inexplicably strong, as though enhanced by magic, but his mother’s rings were supposed to dispel enchantments, and yet they did nothing to weaken the forces keeping his wrists and ankles firmly together.

His captor did not speak a word the entire time, nor could Lancelot recall a moment that they had stopped to rest. Lancelot doubted that he ever blacked out long enough for his captor to rest and eat, then pick him back up and continue their journey before he woke up again.

How long had they been travelling? Lancelot didn’t know anymore.

His spines raised once again as an instinctive stab of terror shot through him; he still couldn’t believe it. What force in the world could get the best of him, Sir Lancelot, the Ultimate Knight? Who had managed to sneak up on him without so much as a sound, a sign of life, of presence, and captured him so quickly and thoroughly?

Lancelot shivered. His mind went, yet again, to his mother, to his son, to his friends and family and the love of his life. His heart stuttered in anguish as he thought how he must have failed them and driven them all to worry.

He had no idea what was in store for him next, which made it all worse.

If he was to be killed, why wasn’t he killed already? What terrible fate did his captor have in store for him? He opened his mouth again, but only a weakened wheeze escaped him, instead of the questions that burned within him.

His ears picked up the sounds of metal creaking. Was he at a gate? Whose? Lancelot’s nerves worked themselves up into a frenzy as he realized with both relief and terror that he might be at the end of his journey.

He was carried for a while longer, and the winds around him ceased. The air was still, and the occasional sound of a door opening or slamming shut told him that he was indoors. Lancelot tried to focus his breathing; he needed all his wits about him if he was to escape.

The next thing he knew, he was tossed unceremoniously onto the ground, and the first voice in days rumbled in his ears. “Mission successful, Your Majesty.”

The voice was dark, deep, and it struck the terror of the gods into Lancelot’s soul.

“My my…” came a second voice, raspy and familiar. “We never doubted you, but you’ve proven yourself to be a man of your word.” Lancelot heard the sound of chains clinking and fabric folding. “We are in your debt, Mephiles.”

_Mephiles?_

“Think nothing of it, Your Majesty,” the first voice resumed. “If you are to reign supreme, you will need all the warriors you can get… and this one looks to be a genuine asset for your ranks.”

“He will be, once he knows who he is.”

Lancelot began struggling on the floor, unwilling to hear any more of this nonsense. Did they really think his loyalty to Avalon’s crown would ever waver? Did they think that he was so weak-willed that his allegiance would shift?

He hated the thought, but he knew he would rather _die_ then find himself fighting against his home.

“We think…” the second voice rasped again, chilling Lancelot to his core, “that it’s about time we release him, wouldn’t you say?”

“As you wish,” came the voice of Mephiles, followed by the click of two fingers snapping together, and all of a sudden, Lancelot’s eyes flooded with color and light again, blinding and stunning him for a moment until a face swam in front of his.

Lancelot’s terror grew thousandfold; he was staring at his _own_ face.

Or… not exactly. This face was grayer, emptier, with cold green eyes like rotting plants when winter rolled around. There was no scar on his face, no mouth whatsoever, and the stripes along the spines were a medium gray instead of red.

Yet no matter how muted all of him seemed to be, Lancelot knew he was staring into the face of someone divine.

He had no time to be shocked or relieved at the revelation that a god himself had been the one to capture and subdue him 一 it would explain the unbreakable enchantments and the lack of breaks to their destination 一 because the next thing he knew, Mephiles’ face was replaced with another familiar one. Three red eyes bored into his soul, reigniting his rage.

“Hello, Terios,” King Ban greeted, and so little made sense that Lancelot hoped beyond hope that he was dreaming.

“You have the wrong man,” he croaked out, his first words since his capture. His throat stung with dryness, and his fangs bared in displeasure. “I am Lancelot. The one you seek is--”

“Is you,” King Ban finished firmly. “I don’t expect you to remember, after all.”

Lancelot shook his head to clear it, but only managed to make himself dizzy. His eyes drifted over to where he expected to see Mephiles, but the dark god had vanished without so much as a trace or a goodbye. The knight barely had time to puzzle over that when a cold, deathlike hand closed over his left arm and pulled him along. “Let go of me!” Lancelot hissed, his weakened legs and feet stumbling to keep up, but King Ban paid him no mind as he led him through grand, twisting, labyrinthian halls. As Lancelot’s hazy mind took in the dark purple bricks and the green torchlight, he started to put a few pieces together.

First, he was most likely at the Benwick Kingdom, inside the castle. He had been captured and carried there, with a god’s magic binding him and preventing him from screaming out for help.

Second, there was something about him that caught King Ban’s interest on his short trip to Avalon. He had to have been mistaken for someone else, for nothing else made sense! Yet it was enough for the king to call upon a god’s assistance, and the god had enough stake in this war against the Saxons that he had agreed to do King Ban’s dirty work.

Third, he was in no shape to fight back or get away if he did not clear up the situation.

Fourth, he was going to try, anyhow.

“I won’t waver,” he said, gasping breaths in between every few words. “I am loyal… to the crown… to which I am knighted.”

“Your mind will change once you know who you are, Terios.”

“Lancelot,” the knight corrected with a dry cough. His head swam with dizziness and nausea, and he missed King Ban’s response. He was pulled into a dark room and pushed towards a wall. A pair of shackles dangled from the ceiling, and two more were piled at the ground, and Lancelot, realizing that he was about to be restrained, started struggling with every ounce of strength he could muster.

**Stop fighting.**

The sudden intrusion in his mind surprised the knight enough that his efforts gave pause, and in that moment, the first shackle closed around his wrist. Realizing that he had been tricked, Lancelot resumed his struggles, but it was only a matter of time before his other wrist was held back as well. In desperation, Lancelot kicked his feet, avoiding the final restraints, but the voice came back, flaring up within his mind.

**Stop. Let it happen.**

“You hear it, don’t you?” King Ban rasped, his voice striking Lancelot’s ears, exactly identical to the one bursting forth in his head. “The call of the hive?”

“I don’t…” Lancelot coughed weakly. “I don’t understand why…”

“Why you hear it?” King Ban guessed. “All members of the Benwick army do. It’s only natural when you’re one of us.”

“I’m not one of you!” Lancelot spat, his anger growing. King or not, Ban had no right to treat him this way!

“Of course you are.” King Ban’s three red eyes glowed in what looked like sadistic glee as the next words struck. 

“You were born of my blood, little Terios.”

The words caught Lancelot so off guard that the next thing he knew, his ankles had been restrained as well. The knight grit his teeth, pulling and squirming, desperate to break free. “I am… My mother is the Lady of the Lake! I grew up in Avalon, in the villages of Corbenic and Camelot, that is my home!”

**Silence.**

“No!” Lancelot screamed back, burning his throat until tears formed in his eyes from the pain. “I will not! I will--”

“This is unbecoming of a Benwick prince, Terios,” King Ban scolded. “Though… a Benwick _bastard_ would be more apt.”

“You are no father of mine!” Lancelot denied, disgust rising at the king's words. For him to be a Benwick... that simply couldn't be true! “I have no father! Just… Just my family in--”

“It was quite the surprise to find you again,” King Ban resumed, placing his cold, bony hand over Lancelot’s mouth, silencing him instantly. “When Mephiles came to me, armed with your visage, I was surprised to discover you were still alive. After all… I had made my instructions very clear about what to do with you.”

Lancelot’s struggles ceased as a chill ran through him. He remembered what his mother had told him, about the night he had been found. How he had been thrown into her lake and left to die. Lancelot’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced up at the man who claimed to be his father.

_Did you try to have me killed?_

“I did,” King Ban answered his unspoken question. “It was an important time in my life. The last king had died, no heir was named, and I was a favorite to take the throne. Unfortunately, a… _mistake_ from the year before led to a major obstacle, a weapon that could be used against me. After all… it simply wouldn’t do for a king-to-be to have sired a bastard, now would it?”

Lancelot shuddered, his mind in disarray and his nerves in shambles. No… This couldn’t be… This just couldn’t be true…

“So I made my instructions clear,” King Ban continued. “Take the child from his mother, bring him to another kingdom altogether to avoid tracing him back to myself, and kill it. It seems as though my follower was unsuccessful… but now, so long after the fact, I cannot say that I mind. I could blame your existence on any number of Benwicks that had left the kingdom and sowed their seeds with whomever they would take. As a baby, you were a weapon to be used against me, but now, you are a weapon to be used _by_ me. How very fortunate.”

“No!” Deep, shuddering breaths interspersed the sobs that Lancelot couldn’t hold back. “No, I won’t… My mother is--”

“Long dead, as is the follower who claimed to have done you in,” King Ban interrupted yet again, never allowing Lancelot’s denial to come to fruition, hitting him hard with more and more awful truths like a bash to the skull. “I made certain of that. This kingdom was dying, Terios, and I needed to take my place. I’m sure you would understand, if you were in my place.” There was a loud clicking noise, as if the king had clicked his tongue in discontent. “Thirty or so years ago, I was fighting tooth and nail for my right to command. I had to do unspeakable things to ensure the best for my people. Yet look at me now.”

King Ban’s clawed hand touched Lancelot’s quills again, and the hedgehog flinched. “I have a true heir. I have an army, strengthened by my magic, and half created by my own power. Creatures who were made only to follow the hive, with no rebellious thoughts to counter… What better loyal subjects than the ones you create on your own?”

With a jolt, Lancelot remembered the odd creature with the blank eyes who had driven King Ban’s carriage to Avalon. His stomach twisted and he gagged in horror, but his heaving was dry and only served to worsen his nausea.

“And now… I have you, too, Terios. With my blood running through your veins, I can only imagine how strong you are, even while watered down with that wench’s simple blood. Tell me, have you ever wondered why you seemed so mighty? Why you were always the best in what you did, outmatched by none?”

_The Ultimate Knight… The mightiest of the Round Table..._

“It is all thanks to me, my magic, my blood. You ought to be grateful, Terios.”

One clawed finger touched directly onto Lancelot’s forehead, glowing an eerie red. Lancelot’s lungs heaved with exertion, his limbs sore to the point that even the smallest movement sent waves of pain through his body.

“Do not fight it, Terios. Accept your destiny.”

_No… No please don’t…_

King Ban’s voice rumbled through the room, speaking a language that Lancelot couldn’t understand, and the knight summoned all his willpower to not succumb.

He thought of the Round Table.

He thought of Guinevere.

He thought of his mother, and his son.

He thought of Arthur, and his vow to him.

The claw removed itself from his forehead, and Lancelot let out the breath he had been holding in. He was still there. He could still think.

_He had won._

“Curious,” King Ban murmured, his eyes searching over his body until they alighted on his wrists and ankles, where the shackles lay. “Ah… You have found yourself with some powerful artifacts, haven’t you?”

Lancelot snarled, prepared to fight back again, but his eyes followed King Ban’s gaze to where it fell.

Right onto his rings.

Panic settled in him as he realized that it was thanks to his mother’s disenchantment rings, not his sheer willpower, that he had been able to resist, and as King Ban reached out to remove the first one, he cried out, struggling to dodge the incoming hands as a second wave of adrenaline-fueled strength found him.

“You fight right to the bitter end,” King Ban remarked with a dark chuckle. “Just like your mother did on the night you were taken away. She fought tooth and nail to keep you…” There was almost a touch of fondness in the dark king’s voice, and it was scarier than anything else Lancelot had heard since being brought to the Benwick Kingdom. “You remind me of her. Brave, but foolish. A fighter until the end. Ah, Elaine, if things had been a little different…”

Lancelot’s heart stopped in his chest.

_Elaine?_

Instantly, his brain conjured up the image of a golden-haired young woman, laughing and dancing and crying and holding him and lying motionless on the cold, hard ground. Lancelot shuddered; it had been a while since he had last flashed back to that moment, that moment when the stench of death assaulted his nose and the air around him seemed darker than ever and all hope within his heart was lost and…

...and King Ban took advantage of Lancelot’s distraction to remove the first ring.

“No!” Lancelot resumed his struggles, but with even one ring gone, the voice intruding his mind grew louder, more insistent, more convincing. The second ring was gone, then the third, then the last, and Lancelot was a weak, broken man chained to the wall.

“Now, Terios…” The claw touched his forehead one more time. “Let’s try this again.”

The chant reprised, a chill flooded the air, and Lancelot screamed until his voice gave out, but whiteness descended on his vision, and his brain felt further and further away until…

Until…

…

…

**Welcome home, Terios. You will fit in just fine.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well. At least Lancelot's not suffering this time around?
> 
> So! King Ban of Benwick is Lancelot's father in the Arthurian legends! Lancelot is, indeed, the son of royalty, though the story of Ban and Lancelot is different from this. All the same, what a crazy coincidence that Lancelot's father is the ruler of an entire group of people, right? (And one more thing, but that's for later.)
> 
> Also! Lancelot's mother really was named Elaine. It was not Elaine of Corbenic, nor Elaine of Astolat. There are at least three Elaines in all of Lancelot's adventures and one was his mother and two were in love with him. In this story, it's just a coincidence that his mother and adopted sister shared a name. An unfortunate one, though, given that it gave Ban the opening he needed.
> 
> I eagerly await any screaming you may have. It fuels me.
> 
> Next chapter: People lose their minds, and yet decisions are still made.


	4. Chapter 4

Grief took many forms, as Guinevere was beginning to realize.

For Galahad, it was isolation. The poor boy was so torn apart that he could hardly stand to be around others. He was silent as the grave during meals, hardly touching his food in the mornings and stuffing himself silly in the evenings, and whenever he wasn’t called out on a mission, he would levitate up to the roof of the castle, looking out into nothing, hugging his knees to his chest. Sometimes Percival would look up the massive structure, as though wondering if she should check on him, but in the end she would sadly give up, the knowledge that he wanted to be left alone mingling with her own fear of heights to cement her decision.

As for Arthur, typically the master at appearing in control, he seemed shocked beyond repair. All too often his eyes would stare at nothing, his breathing so soft that it seemed as though he had forgotten how to, and he was so, so  _ still. _ Arthur was still, and that was one of the most unnerving things about the whole situation. Every now and then his shell would break, and he would start to cry, or he would scream, or he would tremble so badly that it seemed as though the dam holding back his true emotions would finally break, only for him to stop and go about his business with a frightening smile, as though he were trying to convince not only everyone else, but himself that he was okay, that he could handle this, that no one need worry about him. Not even Caliburn seemed to understand just what was going on below the surface, but it was clear that Arthur was far from fine.

Guinevere had found him in his study one day, leaning so far out the window that her mind immediately flew to the worst case scenario. She pulled him back, and he let her, tired eyes blinking with the exhaustion of constant sleepless nights. He had shot her the least convincing grin she had ever seen and told her, “I don’t want to die. I just want to leave.”

And Guinevere had held him tight, feeling his words resonate so strongly with her that she wanted to jump them both out the window in turn, flying high until they left behind the pains of the world.

Instead she replied, “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

As for herself, she was doing absolutely everything she could to avoid feeling altogether. She buried herself in her work, in her studies on foreign affairs and cultural norms, on war strategy, on Saxon history, on _anything,_ until she collapsed on her bed, too tired to think or to dream, and in the morning she would wake up, feeling too drained and hollow to even dare to remember that Lancelot was…

_ They didn’t even know. _

* * *

_ “Do you have the sample?” _

_ Merlina’s tone was quick, businesslike, as she spread out the map on the table. Her fingers touched the edges of the thin paper, drawing small symbols to finalize the ritual with a few muttered incantations as Galahad gripped the last item they needed in his hand, holding it out for inspection.  
_

_ One single quill, fetched from Lancelot’s room, caught on one of his more casual outfits that he rarely wore. _

_ Merlina squinted at it, double checking the color and the aura before nodding in satisfaction. _

_ Below the table, Guinevere grabbed fistfuls of fabric from her skirt and squeezed her hands so tightly with anticipation and nervousness that she feared she might faint if she let go. _

_ A tracing spell. With any luck, they could find out where Lancelot was and bring him back before long. _

_ When she was ready to begin, Merlina held out her hand, and Galahad dropped the quill into the awaiting palm. The royal wizard took a deep breath, placing the quill onto the map of Avalon, and began reciting an incantation. The quill lifted onto its point, floating a millimeter above the map, the energies of the world flowing through it and pulsing out to the edges of the kingdom, searching for a match… _

_...and then it fell over with a barely-audible thud. _

_ “What does that mean?” Galahad demanded, jumping to his feet. “What does that mean?!” _

_ “It… It means he can’t be found,” Merlina murmured in shock, looking down at the dejected dark quill, and Guinevere felt her head fog up and her eyes sting and her body tense up even worse than it had before. _

_ “So he’s dead?” Arthur asked, voice hoarse, and dear Gaia, hearing it aloud was like a knife to the chest. _

_ “Maybe he’s not in Avalon?” The soft voice of Vivien spoke up, redirecting all attention to her, and the woman hardly blinked at the intense stares sent her way. “It’s been a while since he’s left, and with Sir Lancelot’s speed… perhaps he’s in another land?” _

_ It was foolish to get their hopes up again, and Guinevere knew this, but Arthur dashed away for a world map the very next second as Merlina rolled up the map she had used, placing the quill to the side, and Galahad sat back down, leaning against Guinevere in a way that demanded comfort. Still, it took a great deal of effort to unclench just one fist to wrap an arm around the terrified boy. _

_ The new map was brought in, the ritual restarted, and soon five pairs of eyes were staring intently at the quill as it hovered over the world. _

_ It trembled. It shook. It hovered slightly west, then slightly north, then further east, then returned to its original position before falling down as it had before. _

_ Galahad’s wail was absolutely  _ **_devastating._ **

_ “I-It shook!” Merlina said in a last effort to keep their hope alive. “It moved a little… that could mean a few things!” _

_ Arthur stood up, turned away, and headed for the door. _

_ “No, really! He might be protected by some new magic from being tracked down!” _

_ Guinevere’s gut twisted. “Doesn’t… Doesn’t Lance wear magic-dispelling rings?” _

_ The room was deadly silent. _

_ “So in other words, we may never know where he is or if he’s alive, so long as the rings are still on him?” _

_ Arthur’s voice, quiet as it was, echoed off the walls of the chamber, and he didn’t even wait for a reply before the door slammed shut behind him. _

* * *

Lancelot had been missing for about two weeks, now. Guinevere could still feel his absence, even as she worked and studied and listened every day away. The man she had come to care so deeply about, as strongly as though he were her own family, gone... Vanished without a trace.

It wasn’t as though she was without support. She knew she wasn’t. Every now and then as she passed them in the halls, Sir Bedivere’s fingers would brush her arm, or Dindrane’s hand would pat her back, and the three of them would keep walking to their destinations, with too much to handle to even _think_ about stopping and just letting the feelings happen.

Twice, Gawain had stopped her outright in the hallway, pulling her into a tight embrace for a few seconds before letting go so they could continue their business.

Both times, she had almost cried on the spot.

Sometimes her tired mind would refuse to stay grounded, and she would think of Omega, and how she hadn’t visited him in weeks, and how he would unquestionably sniff around, looking for Lancelot, and goodness, how could she stand that? How would she be able to even explain without words just how confusing and terrifying this situation was?

Lancelot was gone. Perhaps dead. No one knew where to find him, and the uncertainty loomed over them like a cloud that would not leave, rimmed with a silver lining of hope that dimmed with every day that passed by, yet refused to leave entirely.

Sometimes she wanted to let go. Scream. Cry. Break things. But she was the queen, and if she wanted to be taken seriously, she couldn’t do what she wanted to do all the time. What she wished to do. She would have to keep going and going until something tore and she was a crumpled heap on the ground.  Arthur, with his endless fake smiles and frequent bouts of heavy anxiety, was exactly the same. Together, they tried to power through the fear, the grief, the endless discussions on what was the best move to make as the days just kept flying on by and _nothing_ was okay, nothing was going to be okay **_ever again._**

The days blurred together, everything feeling and sounding the same, until one day at breakfast, Arthur’s facade broke just the tiniest bit and he admitted, “I just wish I knew. Even if it’s the worst possible outcome… one less thing to wonder and worry about.”

That was the last straw.

“Then let’s do something about it. Today, at the meeting.”

They had wasted enough time as it was.

Arthur looked at her in stunned silence. His eyes blinked, a drop fell, and he wiped it away at the speed of sound. He sniffed, breathing in deeply, and nodded.

“If I falter…”

“...I’ll pick up where you left off.”

They looked at each other, left hands rising and meeting, squeezing together in a silent pact, and Guinevere’s wedding ring bulged from beneath her glove. She knew that, underneath Arthur’s gauntlet, the twin ring lied.

They were in this together until the very end.

* * *

“We want to make it very clear,” Arthur continued, talking over the buzzing voices in the room at his announcement, “this will not be a siege in any way. We are offering aid, either through our knights or by relocating the emeralds. We trust in the Round Table to work out the details with our fellow monarchs after several debriefing sessions. Should our offers be unwelcome, our knights will be free to return to Avalon and continue fortifying our own defences.”

“Your Majesty, this is preposterous!” one voice cried, leading to more vocalizations of dissent.

“We’ll be left wide open!”

“How egotistical we shall appear to the other kingdoms!”

“Avalon is in a terrible strategic position if the Saxons decide they want to head east!”

Guinevere could just barely hear Arthur’s heart increase in pace and his breathing turn shallow and quick, so she slammed her hands against the table, finally absolutely _done_ with all this nonsense.

“We are your monarchs,” she barked, effectively silencing the room. “We’ve made our decision clear, and now it should be considered as good as an order!”

Guinevere took all the looks of disdain thrown her way without flinching. She knew Arthur hated playing the King card. Both of them despised taking away the small bits of freedom people were allowed with the power they were given, but enough was enough. Something had to give.

Arthur cleared his throat, determination settling into his eyes. “She is right. We are your king and queen, and we say we’ve had enough debating. Even without an attack on our land, we’ve lost one of our number. How many people, how many villages, how many kingdoms must fall before you agree with us that a step must be taken?”

Guinevere fought the urge to smile. It seemed as though Arthur was remembering the harder part of his creed; to do what was best, sometimes one had to be the bad guy.

“But Sire, our defences--”

“We will be sending out only knights,” Guinevere interrupted. “Our army will remain intact, and our Royal Wizard will remain with us to further bolster our defences. We will not entertain any more debate on the matter.”

With those punishing words, every mouth in the room closed itself, even as obvious dissent and panic welled behind many eyes.

From one corner of the room, Longclaw nodded at Guinevere in approval.

She rather took some pride in that.

* * *

With the meeting concluded and everyone filing out of the room, Arthur slumped in his chair, massaging at his head. “Nothing should ever be this difficult,” he groaned before glancing back at the map before them, already tracing lines with his fingers.

  
  


“We can forget about the Saxon’s emerald,” he muttered, crossing out the land’s name with his finger. “And King Ban will likely have his under maximum security. That leaves us with Celliwig, Spiral, Caerleon, Acorn, and Carhaix to look out for.”

“We have eleven knights at our disposal,” Guinevere continued. “That means about two per kingdom.”

Arthur ran a hand through his spines breathing deeply. “And then… what? How will we keep in contact with everyone? How can we look for Lancelot, especially if we don’t know if he’s in Avalon or not?” His stress seemed to return at full blast as the weight of every last decision piled on him, so Guinevere decided to give him one last important reminder.  


“Are you forgetting that we’re not in this alone?” she asked, flicking him on the shoulder. “We have some of the greatest and most creative minds I can think of in this castle, and two incredibly powerful magic users. Do not act as though you must decide everything yourself.”

Arthur glanced sheepishly at her. “I apologize. It’s… difficult, sometimes, to remember that… that I have help.”

The bat sighed, patting him on the back. “Keep thinking up a strategy for the knights,” she said, already planning ahead. “You know them best, and can surely divide them better than I can. As for me… I think I’ll start working on the communications hurdle.”

* * *

Guinevere plopped herself unceremoniously onto the dining hall chair. “Hellooooo, Dindrane!” she sing-songed, setting her elbows on the table, weaving her fingers together and resting her chin on top of them.

The swallow looked up from her lunch, smirk already beginning to form. “That’s your ‘I need a favor’ voice,” she accused, and Guinevere rolled her eyes.

“Now now, be that as it may, is it really so wrong that I come to you when I need something made?”

“Hardly,” Dindrane scoffed. “I’m the smartest inventor you’ll ever know. Fine then, spill it. What do you need?”

The queen tutted. “On to business so quickly.”

The smith gestured at her meal. “I would like to eat _sometime_ this hour. As glad as I am to see you in high spirits again, I would rather not waste any time.”

“You always choose food over me,” Guinevere joked, prompting a snicker from her friend. “Have it your way, then. I should begin by telling you that we’re going to be making a very big move soon.”

Dindrane blinked in astonishment. “You finally convinced the council?”

“...In a manner of speaking, yes. We--”

The swallow raised one hand in a silent gesture to stop. “Spare me the details. I hate politics.”

Guinevere giggled. Dindrane was another one of those casual types that were so refreshing after endless formal speeches and addresses, even if she could come across as rude. “Fine, fine. I’ll just warn you that you and your partners might find yourself preparing a lot of weapons and armor in the coming week.”

“Note taken. Thank you for the warning, even though that’s not why you’re here.”

“Not at all. If you can find the time, Arthur and I need you to find a way to enable long-distance communication, perhaps with the assistance of Merlina.”

That made Dindrane set down her fork with interest. “Long-distance, you say?”

Guinevere nodded. “And several of the means, if at all possible.”

The swallow tapped at her beak, and Guinevere could already see the thoughts racing through her mind. “Like a paper that can transfer words from one sheet to the other?”

The queen grinned. “This is already sounding promising.”

“I’ll run it by the men after lunch,” Dindrane decided, picking her fork back up. “They might have some good ideas or tweaks. The simpler the better, I say, especially if we have to make multiple in the middle of all the upcoming orders. How many did you say you needed?”

“I’ll get back to you with that. Arthur’s still figuring out the plan of attack.”

“Not to mention, we might need backups,” Dindrane mused, before sighing and glaring at her food. “Great, now I’m too busy thinking to eat!”

Guinevere almost snorted, thankfully suppressing the urge before it hit her. “I’ll leave you alone, then. Talk it over with the boys, see how it goes.” Then, with a mischievous grin, “I expect great things from you, Dindrane.”

“As you should,” she returned, waving her fork in the air. “When do I ever give you work that is ever below expectation?”

Guinevere stood up, and somehow, the reality of the past few hours hit her. They had their next move planned. Things were progressing. With this out of the way, they could focus on tracking down Lancelot. She smiled at Dindrane, a truly grateful look, and the swallow looked back with gentle amusement. “Never,” Guinevere replied. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. May I _please_ eat now?”

Guinevere waved goodbye and made her way upstairs, feeling lighter than she had for a long time. She made her way to her room, ignoring all she passed in a haze of relief and unbottling emotion.

As soon as the door behind her shut itself, she flopped down on the bed, and, for the first time in far too long, cried it all out.

_ Just you wait, Lancelot. We’ll find out what happened to you. We won't stop until we do.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the Pain Train.
> 
> Next chapter: The Smiths have a brainstorming session, while Merlina and Arthur hatch an additional plan.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’ll be frank with you, I already see plenty of issues with this idea.”

Dindrane clicked her beak, more performative than actually annoyed. Smithy never wasted time when it came to brainstorming, and even though it was annoying to have someone almost a decade younger than herself shoot down ideas, it was good to have a leader that could and would stand his ground. She respected that about the head smith.

The fox was standing across from her, on the other side of the ‘Brainstorm Bench’, as Enid so lovingly named it, his tails undulating slowly as his face set itself in a frown. Enid sat nearby, charcoal in hand and a blank sheet of parchment in front of him, tapping one corner until a slew of tiny black dots littered the top right corner.

“The way I see it,” Smithy continued, “as much as instant letters sounds like a revolutionary form of communication, it would take a very long time to perfect, and time is not on our side right now, especially if what you say is true and we’ll be swamped with orders in the weeks to come.”

“Then what if we have all the papers connected by the same strain of magic?” Dindrane suggested. “So one’s writing shows up on all papers, and not just one intended recipient? Surely that would be easier for Merlina to achieve.”

But Smithy shook his head. “What if everyone wrote at once and the words covered each other? The words would need to disappear at some point for the paper to remain useful, and what if the recipient did not see them before they _did_ disappear?”

The swallow sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. But when we have time, we’re revisiting this idea.”

In truth, Dindrane was rather glad that this concept of hers was dismissed for now, at least in the case of the knights, and her friend Sir Kay in particular. Even as she pitched her idea to her coworkers, she had been criticizing it, pulling it apart and realizing just how much issue it could potentially pose to her friend, who, despite improving his reading skills, still needed much longer than most to read and process what was in front of him. A jumble of messages, all in different handwritings, criss-crossing around and over each other…

She could already feel Kay’s hypothetical frustration prickling under her own skin.

“Don’t misunderstand me!” Smithy hastily added, “I do think it’s a fantastic idea, but right now we have limited time and resources and--”

“I know,” Dindrane interrupted. “In any case, people might misinterpret the messages that are sent. The simpler we can make this, the better.”

“Then…”

Dindrane and Smithy turned their attention to Enid, who shrunk under their intense gazes before regaining his confidence. “...instead of words, perhaps symbols might work better?”

“Symbols?” Smithy echoed.

The red wolf nodded, lifting his charcoal again and focusing on the parchment in front of him. “Status updates. Things like… ‘good’, ‘minor issue’ and ‘major issue’...”

Enid began sketching, making a chart with two columns and many rows, placing a series of potential symbols in the rightmost column: a checkmark, an exclamation point, a double exclamation point, a question mark…

“And perhaps some more definitive symbols as well?” Smithy suggested. “Like ‘mission success’ or ‘mission failure’?”

Enid nodded vigorously, gaining that look in his eyes that he always got when he was very excited about an idea. His hand flew, sketching symbol concepts, adding suggested meanings in the margins of the paper.

“What’s the left column for?” Dindrane asked, and Enid sucked in an eager breath, no longer wanting to speak words, his hand flying over to the column in question, where he began making small, but neat and clear, sketches of the coats of arms of King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Sir Geraint…

“So everyone gets to provide their own status update,” Smithy realized as Enid nodded again, still engrossed in his design. “That could be useful if one of the papers fell in the wrong hands.”

“Or if one of the knights is too proud to admit that something is wrong,” Dindrane scoffed, immediately thinking of Lamorak. “But how would they mark it? Is there a way for Merlina to highlight them?”

Enid sectioned off the bottom half of the parchment, dividing it in two, and scribbled a note in the lower left side, the ‘Question Box’ section, mirrored by the blank ‘Answer Box’ section where Merlina would write her answer. Dindrane had to hand it to him, the wolf wasn’t always able to speak when he needed to, but his ability to visualize, conceptualize, and make steps for the next part of planning was beyond compare.

She really had been fortunate to end up with these two as her fellow smiths. Too many cooks might spoil the broth, but three genii create miracles.

With a few more questions, some poking and prodding, and an entire stick and a half worth of charcoal, the prototype design lay in front of them, and all three smiths felt the warm glow of excited satisfaction at knowing that they were about to create something truly grand.

“I’ll run it by Merlina and the king and queen,” Dindrane said, picking up the design without waiting for a response. “With any luck we can start making these things before everything gets too busy, but just in case, do you boys think you can make up a backup plan in case it doesn’t work out?”

Smithy whistled while Enid sat back in his seat, massaging his palm and flexing his fingers after so much work. Both looked tired but up for the challenge nevertheless. Dindrane smirked; those two would be able to make up at least three base concepts before she came back.

That just meant that she had to think up _four_ on her own while she went to get the approval. She couldn’t let them show her up, after all.

* * *

Dindrane had come up with telepathic mind links, image projection, and legitimate teleportation 一 all incredibly difficult to achieve, but that was what the shared brainstorming process was for 一 and she still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the sovereigns nor the royal wizard. The swallow clicked her beak again, this time in genuine frustration. It didn’t do to have the fate of their home hanging by a thread, and yet she couldn’t find any of the people who could help move everything along!

She went back outside to the courtyard, figuring that maybe one of them chose to seek some respite from everything. If they looked stressed enough she would leave them be, but as it stood, she did not have the time to leave this waiting any longer than she had to.

She traversed the rosebushes, the hedge maze, the ivy-covered statues and the groves of miniature trees, but there wasn’t a soul to be found. Sighing in irritation, Dindrane turned to leave, but as she did so a flash of flame-orange caught her eye, almost hidden by a small cluster of trees.

Vivien was sitting in the shade, and Dindrane felt relief. Where Vivien was, one could always find Merlina.

Yet it seemed as though today was still her unlucky day, for the woman was sitting alone, eyes closed, tranquil as a pond, far away from their world.

Dindrane shook her back down to it.

Startled blue eyes flew open, a flash of shock and anger spicing up the usual bland look on Vivien’s face, before the woman caught ahold of herself and replaced that look with her typical neutral expression. Dindrane filed away that reaction in her mind, determined to take Vivien by surprise again someday.

Anything to break that Chaos-awful mask she was so insistent on wearing for some reason...

“Where’s Merlina?” Dindrane demanded, too exhausted with the search to even begin caring about tact, and one fire-red eyebrow quirked in response.

“Last I heard, she was with King Arthur. They wanted an audience with Lady Longclaw.”

Vivien rolled with the punches it seemed. Dindrane liked that in a person.

“This was about half an hour ago.”

Even if she did tell her things she didn’t want to hear.

The swallow groaned, leaning against one of the trees. “And here I was sure I’d found Merlina when I saw you.”

Almost imperceptibly, Vivien’s eyes narrowed, but a genius like Dindrane noticed it without trouble. “How do you mean?” the human asked.

Dindrane stared at her. “Is that a trick question? She is always following you around. Either that, or you are following her. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Vivien quickly averted her eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“You two aren’t very subtle, you see,” Dindrane continued, shifting against her tree and crossing her arms. Color flooded Vivien’s cheeks, pink like blossoming roses, though her face remained impassive. “I know you don’t talk to most people, but still, spending all your time with the same person…”

“You are mistaken,” Vivien said firmly, as though to preemptively silence any objections on the matter. “There is nothing happening between us.”

“Then you had better hurry up and make something,” Dindrane deadpanned, noticing how Vivien’s cheeks went from pink to red. “The last thing this castle needs is _another_ case of Arthur and Lancelot.”

Vivien looked down at her lap, and Dindrane stopped speaking. The air felt colder now that she had uttered the lost knight’s name, and it reminded her of her mission. It seemed as though it would be a while before she found Arthur or Merlina to get feedback, and though she could seek out Guinevere, it made more sense to her to find the king and wizard together once their meeting had adjourned. That way she could save herself a few trips and miscommunications.

Besides, _someone_ had to start the long, difficult process of befriending Vivien and integrating her more thoroughly into castle life. For over half a year, now, the woman had been distant, silent, like a ghost in their home, remaining the foreigner, the strange figure in the halls, the subject of gossip and speculation as the mysteries surrounding her remained unsolved. Even when in a group, she stayed nigh unreadable, like a statue among the living.

Dindrane remembered playing cards against her during a couple of Game Knights. Her poker face was magnificent, and her luck incredible.

If Lancelot’s disappearance had made anything exceedingly clear, it was that life was short and uncertain.

Dindrane made her decision, leaning away from her tree and making her way over to sit cross-legged across from Vivien. The woman looked up, the only thing betraying her confusion being a small quirk of her lip.

Again, something easy to overlook if one weren’t a genius like Dindrane.

“Until I am able to find the king and Merlina,” Dindrane explained, otherwise unprompted, “I suppose I will stay here with you. What were you doing before I arrived? Napping?”

“No,” Vivien replied, not missing a beat, and Dindrane had to hand it to her, she certainly did not falter much under pressure or confusion. “I was meditating.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of that before, though I’ve never tried it myself.”

“I do it often,” Vivien revealed, and Dindrane’s natural curiosity ate up the new information like a ravenous shark. “It was a requirement for me to learn and master when I was…”

The woman’s voice trailed off, and her mouth closed. Dindrane could tell she would pry nothing more out that day. That was fine; it simply meant that this was a long-term project, as she had anticipated.

“So will you be able to teach me?”

Vivien looked at her for a moment, face unreadable, like a painting or a doll, with not even the faintest glimmer of life or thought behind her eyes. “I can,” she finally said, surprising the swallow with the sudden answer. Vivien’s hands rested on her knees, and Dindrane mirrored her. “Find somewhere comfortable to place your hands. This is my preferred pose, but you may find something else suits you better.”

Dindrane shifted on the ground, resting her elbows low by her hips and adjusting until things felt right. From across the way, Vivien kept watching her with that inscrutable gaze.

“Now close your eyes, and take a deep, slow breath. Meditation is about clearing the mind of intrusive thought while remaining present, so take some time to focus on your breathing and nothing else.”

That would be a challenge; Dindrane’s brain always ran at full speed, unable to stop or shift focus, but a challenge was a challenge. She wouldn’t let herself be beaten.

And if this was the first step in gaining Vivien’s trust, then so be it.

* * *

Merlina’s hands gripped at her staff so forcefully that she felt her nails dig into the wood. A splinter poked into her cuticle, irritating but not painful, and certainly not enough to make her any less nervous. King Arthur stood beside her, his fists similarly clenched at his sides, and across the table, Lady Longclaw stared at them both, beak open in shock.

Merlina’s heart hammered in her chest as she waited for a response from the elder advisor. She knew it was a strange plan to wrap one’s head around; she herself still felt the tension in her muscles from the very second King Arthur had offered forth his ambitious plan, and realized what he wanted from her.  She had agreed, despite her misgivings for the plan as a whole, and despite the weight that pushed down on her as she remembered the significant role she would play in it, if Lady Longclaw were to agree to assist them.

She hoped she was up for the task.

The elderly owl’s beak clicked shut, and both she and King Arthur stood up straighter. Lady Longclaw’s feathers around her head began to rise up, and Merlina felt the ice cold touch of fear make its caress across her gut.

“You want to create a body double of the king to stand in for him in court meetings,” the owl reiterated, and Merlina tried to fight back the weak, defensive arguments that bubbled up in her mind as she heard how utterly _ridiculous_ the plan sounded from an outside perspective. “Meanwhile, the king and queen will be running all over the map, trying to find the missing Sir Lancelot, while the court remains under the impression that only the queen has gone away.”

Hard yellow eyes bored into them both, piercing right down to the soul, and Merlina became acutely aware that she had ceased breathing under the verbal scrutiny of their plan. “Furthermore,” Lady Longclaw continued, “you wish to do this at a time when Avalon Kingdom is at its most vulnerable, given that you have decided to send every last knight we have away to other kingdoms in the meantime.” Her eyes narrowed even more, and Merlina’s anxiety spiked to new heights. “Have I understood this correctly?”

From her side, King Arthur nodded his head. “That would be the long and short of it, yes.”

Lady Longclaw appeared to deflate, and Merlina remembered to exhale, dizzy from nerves. “Your Majesty,” the owl said slowly, “I have heard quite a few nonsensical plots from you, but this? This is simply unfeasible.”

“Which is why we have Merlina to assist us,” the king replied, voice even, and Merlina envied how collected he appeared to be, especially as his words sent a tremor through her. “If you would?” he prompted, and Merlina knew it was her turn to act.

After all, this entire plan hinged on her ability to pull off this illusion.

The wizard took a deep breath, focusing her mind with the techniques that Vivien had taught her. She took a step back and shifted her grip on her staff, ripping her nails out of the tiny trenches in the wood that she had carved. She focused on the empty space before her, and started her incantation.

Magic was a wonderful thing, and nothing made Merlina feel alive quite like a spell did. With magic’s help, she dug into the world, finding energies of all kinds, from a glimmer of light from a flickering candle to the soft whisper of wind through the trees, all connected by the tiniest points in time and space, like an invisible web or constellation that could only be found through talent and training. Magic made Merlina feel safe, like she was a part of this world and would never truly leave it, especially as the energies of everything around her flowed in and out of her, transforming and strengthening, feeding and growing, until it could be focused into her staff.

Merlina could hear the sound of the sound of a dragonfly’s wings flapping in the air in the town outside the castle, could see the cracks in a brick making up the wall of a house in the next village over, could smell the food being prepared in the kitchen all over the land. She was everything when she focused, her anxiety fading into nothing as the power of the world flowed through her like it was her own blood, warm and safe and belonging.

Merlina’s fears were long gone as she began her incantation, and her focus shifted firmly back onto her task.

_ I can do this. I always have been able to do this. _

Her staff struck the floor thrice, and from the sparks that flew from the base, three small circles of pale yellow light formed, looping around one another to form a pattern on the ground. Merlina murmured a few more words, coaxing the figure to take form.

First, the feet, clad in similar armored boots to the king’s, but black in color rather than gold. The black armor continued up a pair of legs as they, too, manifested themselves, followed by the hips, torso and arms. From the back sprouted a cape, no longer a solid red sheet, but sectioned black strips, embroidered with geometric patterns in a brilliant, glowing magenta. In one gauntleted hand, the figure carried a long, heavy helmet, but Merlina had to concentrate hard as she created the face, from memory, to the best of her ability.  


And then, he was done, and the illusion King Arthur stood before them all.

Merlina relaxed her grip on her staff and took a few heavy breaths, mopping sweat from her brow as King Arthur took over the conversation again. “As you can see, Lady Merlina is perfectly apt at creating a double of myself.”

As though to agree with him, the illusion king grinned and waved with his free hand. Had Merlina not been so drained from the effort to conjure him, she would have been proud.

Lady Longclaw, on the other hand, appeared to be speechless yet again, and it gave Merlina the chance to recover in tandem as she got her wits about her again.

“Be that as it may,” the owl finally said, her eyes still unable to leave the illusion, “why does he look as he does?”

“It is a safety precaution, since I am unable to remember every detail of His Majesty's appearance,” Merlina explained, grimacing at how dry her lips had become from all her heavy breathing. “If I were to make an exact replica of King Arthur without a reference, someone will surely notice something is off about his appearance. If I am to make a design of my own, someone is much less likely to notice if I am inconsistent.”

The three looked back at the illusion, and there was indeed something off about the face, something hard to pin down and identify, but the illusion king lowered the helmet onto his head, and just like that, the odd appearance of the armor overpowered the sense that something was wrong.

“We shall explain it as a new set of enchanted battle armor for myself, as a way to ensure our safety during these difficult times,” King Arthur explained further, regaining Lady Longclaw’s attention. “With any luck, any strangeness of appearance or behavior will be easily explained away while Merlina maintains this image.”

“But this alone is not enough.”

The three of them looked back over to the illusion king; it was jarring to hear King Arthur’s voice coming from it, muffled though it was underneath the shield of the visor. The illusion king walked toward Lady Longclaw, who took one step back before catching herself and standing her ground.

“We are but a mere illusion,” the fake king clarified, standing before them all. “An abstraction, an idea, unable to think or make decisions for ourselves. We will need someone to assist with this ruse… someone trustworthy, who we can delegate the good of a kingdom to, and that someone is you, Lady Longclaw. We need you if this plan is to work.”

The old owl opened her beak and clicked it shut again. She appeared troubled, her feathers ruffling again, and Merlina’s trepidation found its way back into her body, taking her over like poison in her veins. She bit her lip, glancing from the false king, to the advisor, and back to the true King Arthur, who waited, like her, with bated breath.

_ His eyes look so tired...  
_

It was a lot to ask; not only would maintaining the illusion King Arthur take up much of Merlina’s energy and focus, Lady Longclaw would be violating nearly every law in the court advisor’s rulebook if she were to agree to become their accomplice. She would be running a kingdom, in secret, with little help.

She wouldn’t agree. There was no way at all that she would--

“He truly means that much to you…”

The owl said it softly, thoughtfully, as though coming to a deep revelation. In response, King Arthur nodded once, his fists clenching by his sides again, and his exhaustion and desperation clouded the room like a hazy aura, unable to be ignored.

Lady Longclaw closed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head. “I will not be able to dissuade you. I can tell.” When she reopened her eyes, there was a firm decisiveness coupled with a delicate warmth that Merlina had never seen in the owl before in all her years working at Camelot Castle. “How could I say no?”

Merlina’s breath came out in a gasp, and at her side, King Arthur appeared to nearly collapse before he darted forth and wrapped his arms around Lady Longclaw in a shameless hug.

_ They had done it.  _

_ They were one step further along. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Dindrane is fun.
> 
> Unfortunately, just a chapter of planning and preparing, but hopefully it's still a fun read!
> 
> Next chapter: The final preparations are done, Arthur gets his final push from Nimue, and more things go wrong than expected immediately.


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